


Rodrigo Rivera

by death_frisbee, im_fairly_witty



Series: Villain AU [2]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen, broken bones and broken hearts, emotional baggage dismantles the best laid love, funerals are the worst place to say I'm sorry, troubled children make troubled adults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-05-27 22:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15034754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_frisbee/pseuds/death_frisbee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_fairly_witty/pseuds/im_fairly_witty
Summary: Rodrigo Rivera (youngest son of Hector and Imelda Rivera) has had a complicated history. Here's a closer look at important chapters of his past.Bonus chapters to the Coco Villain au.





	1. Chapter 1

**New York, 1948**

“Hey, don’t say that.”

“What?” Rodrigo smirked, idly letting the glass rim of his bottle tap against his teeth as he looked out over the New York skyline. “That my gala suit already looks dated? It’s true.”

Iria looked up at him from where she was resting her head on his lap, a bottle of her own beside her. Rodrigo looked down at her stern hazel eyes, the kind of color that a cello would play.

“No, the part about you being worthless.” Iria said, her voice serious and gentle like only her voice could be. “Don’t say things that aren’t true.”

“Iriaaaaaa, I was just joking.” Rodrigo lied, moving as she sat up and shifted to sit beside him where he was leaning against a rooftop heating vent.

“No, you weren’t.” Iria said matter of factly, resting her head against his shoulder and lacing her fingers through his. “You’re the only one that rips yourself up like that, you have to stop.”

“Hey, be your own worst critic right?” Rodrigo said, he tried to chuckle but it didn’t quite come. “You know, I still don’t understand how you manage to become even more beautiful after dark.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Iria said. “You aren’t worthless.”

“Of course not, I’m talented, brilliant,  _niño prodigio_.” Rodrigo said, practically tasting the newspaper ink in his mouth as he recited the words, “How could I ever forget what it means to be  _Rodrigo Rivera_?”

“I’m not talking about  _Rodrigo Rivera_ ,” Iria said, “I’m talking about you, Ruy. You’re worth a whole lot.”

Rodrigo was glad she couldn’t see the pain on his face. The feeling inside him was something with vibrato, something with broken, low melodies that woven together into a kind of unbearable crescendo.

Something difficult and complicated and painful.

Something he didn’t want to listen to.

“Is there anything that I can do for you tonight, _estrella_?” Rodrigo asked, turning his head to rest on hers.

“Tell me what you like the most about yourself.” Iria said, he could hear the mischievous smile in her voice as she effortlessly parried his distraction.

“That I managed to catch your attention.” he said without hesitation, setting his bottle aside. “Is it my turn to ask questions?”

“Only if you don’t talk yourself down anymore.” Iria said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

“Awww, en serio? I’m my own best punchline.” Rodrigo said.

“Then you’ll just have to stop hitting yourself.” Iria said. She pulled back so she was face to face with him, making him meet her gaze. “Do you promise?”

Rodrigo could barely remember what she’d just said with her this close. Her pull was irresistible, but he sensed that he wasn’t allowed to kiss her until he agreed.

“No more jokes about myself.” He said, smiling as he leaned forward slightly.

“Good.” Iria said, the word breathing against his lips as their mouths met.

Kissing Iria was effortless, beautiful, gentle. She gave more than she took and it was all Rodrigo could ever do to not keep taking and taking, to lose himself completely in her gentle confidence.

Especially now that he was becoming more and more convinced that he didn’t deserve it.  
  
He tried to push the thought away as he cradled the back of her head and her hands rested on his chest, as he inhaled the gentle scent of her citrus perfume and tasted the cheap wine on her lips.

The nagging knowledge that he could never be enough for her had been eating at him for days now, he knew he would ruin things. He always did.

But for now, for just this moment, he had to believe that it would never end. 

 

**The Land of the Dead, 2004**

_(This section written by death_frisbee)_

 

_Knock knock knock._

Ruy whined to himself as the knocks seemed to slam right into his skull–first because  _owww,_  noise bad, second because, as a general rule, people who knocked instead of letting themselves in were people he  _did not want to talk to._

_Knock knock knock._

He groaned, turning over to bury his face in Caprice’s side. She huffed and nudged at his head with her snout. He waved her away with a grimace.

“Not nooow. Be a good alebrije and scare them off, okay?”

She huffed again, this time getting to her feet and letting Ruy fall to the floor with a yelp. He sat up, giving her a wounded look.

“Some spirit guide you are,” he said as she contently trotted off. “Pepita would never do this, you know!”

_Knock knock knock._

He rubbed his face with a groan. His visitor clearly wasn’t getting the message. Probably one of _la familia_. Hopefully it was Coco. He pulled himself up with a little groan, running his bony fingers through his hair to smooth it down and straightening his wrinkled shirt. He gave himself a little shake, then made his way to the door and opened it.

“What d’you want?” he mumbled irritably. His sour mood, however, lightened as he saw the put-together elderly woman standing on his welcome mat, gold and orange markings standing out brightly against her skull. He caught her just as she was wiggling her fingers experimentally; didn’t look like one of the family. He leaned in the doorway, hands in his pockets. “You, uh, you lost, doña?”

She looked up in surprise, hazel eyes wide. “Sorry. I’m…looking for Rodrigo Rivera?”

He glanced over her shoulder, looking for any potential family members using a poor woman as bait. When he didn’t see anyone, he gave her a lazy smile. “You found him.”

She looked over him curiously; something in her look was so familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. She tucked an escaped curl back into her chignon, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I don’t expect you to remember me. It’s been so long.”

He frowned. The eyes, the hair, the way she looked at him…he sucked in a sharp breath as it hit him.

“Iria?”

Her mouth tilted upwards, though she let out a little cry of surprise as he threw his arms around her, lifting her up and whirling her around.

“ _Iritititita_!  _Ave_ María  _Pur-ís-ma_ , I never thought I’d see you here!” He cupped her face, a wide smile splitting his face. “Dios mio, you’re so  _old_! Did you just die?”

“About a year ago.”

“And it took you this long to visit me? I am  _wounded_ , Rita.”

She laughed, pushing his hands away. “There’s a lot of paperwork to come visit this side, you know. Our section’s completely different.”

“Then you should have sent me a message of some sort. I wander your way all the time.” He wrapped an arm around her and brought her inside. “Come in, come in. It’s, like, four, right? Let me get you a drink.”

“Actually, I don’t drink anymore,” she said, glancing around the flat and obviously doing her best to keep from judging. “So I…” She looked up to catch Ruy looking at her, eyes wide as he was already handing a glass to her. She sighed and half-smiled as she took it. “Just this  _one_ , okay?”

“Por supuesto.” He grabbed his own glass and the half-full bottle of whiskey, then nodded upward. “Let’s head up, hm? It’s just like the old penthouse roof up at the top, and we can look out at everyone. It’s a treat for people-watchers like us.”

~

“So you married a  _duke_?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Is he nice? Do I have to come over and make sure he’s treating you right?”

Iria tossed her head back with a laugh, now-loosed curls glinting silver in the light. “ _No_ , Ruy! Esteban is a perfectly wonderful husband.”

Rodrigo half-smiled as he rested a cheekbone against his hand, absently swirling the ice in his empty cup. “Better than a crazy conductor could’ve been, hm?”

Iria looked up at him, smile fading. “Ruy…”

“Nah, nah, don’t worry about it, Rita, I’m just teasing.” He grabbed the bottle and refilled his drink.

“Careful with that.”

“I’m dead, it can’t hurt me. Sin hígado, sin problema.” He took a long drink before looking back at her. “So Esteban. Tell me about him.”

Iria tugged at a curl. If she’d had lips, she would have bitten the lower one—he remembered that. “Why don’t you tell me about what you’ve been up to?”

He laughed, the sound a touch bitter. “Same as when you knew me before. Hate my family. Make lots of music. Throw the best parties around.” He tilted his glass with a wry smile. “Thank God that my living fans know exactly what to offer me.”

Iria’s browbone furrowed. “You really haven’t changed,” she murmured. He grimaced as he caught the disappointment in her voice, and he quickly downed the rest of his drink. “Ruy, I…”

“Leeet’s talk about happier times, huh? Remember when we took a joyride in a horsedrawn carriage in New York? And how the Maldonian embassy thought I was abducting you with that stunt?”

“Ruy…”

“Or! Or-or when I snuck us into the Met in the middle of the night, and you gave me the most amazing concert with just your ukulele! Remember that?  _Dios_ , we had fun together, didn’t we?”

Better to focus on those parts. Better to remember the outrageous things they did than the quiet nights together, than bright hazel eyes and understanding smiles and finding the most beautiful symphony in her heartbeat. Better than…

Bony hands cupped his face, and he instinctively leaned into the touch, swallowing hard as he shut his eyes. Iria’s thumb scraped lightly against his cheek, and he couldn’t bear to open his eyes. She pitied him. She’d told him so the last time they’d spoken, just before she left. He didn’t want to see that right now.

“You’re so  _young_.”

He peeked his eyes open at that. There was no pity in her expression, just…something  _sad_. It wasn’t new. Before, he used to kiss away that look, distracting her with declarations of love and tapping out bars of music against her cheek in time with her laughs. He couldn’t do that now.

“I’m sorry.” He pushed past her hands, moving closer. Her breath caught, only to release as he buried his face against her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have been better for you.”

“You could have been,” she murmured, though she softened the words by stroking his hair. “You just…all you had to do was  _try_ , Ruy.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t reply, and Ruy silently curled tighter to her. He’d ruined this all those years ago, he knew. And she’d always deserved better than what he could have possibly given her. He swallowed.

“Esteban. He’s good to you?”

“You already asked that.”

“I want to know. If he takes you for granted I’ll go over and kill him again.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Ruy.”

“I’m not being dramatic.”

She sighed, running her fingers through his hair. “He’s kind. And clever. He loves our daughter immensely–”

“You had a kid?” His voice broke at the question. He wasn’t sure why; he’d never wanted kids after the nightmare he’d grown up in. But the thought of Iria living a whole, full life without him…

“Mm. About three years after you died. Named her Luzia, after Vovó.” She hesitated, hand stilling. “He would have been fine naming a son after you. I think that’s when I realized he really did love me.”

“And you? Do you love him?”

Iria was silent again, though her hand started carding through his hair once more. “Yes. It’s different than what we had, but I do.”

Ruy pressed his face harder against her shoulder. That was good. He knew it was good that she found someone she loved. And yet…

“Te amo,” he whispered. “I never stopped. Not even when you left.”

Iria let out a slow breath. “I know you didn’t.” She lifted his head, making him look at her. “I didn’t stop, either. But it would have destroyed us if I stayed,” she added, with all the matter-of-factness that came from a completed life.

He set a hand over hers, fingertips lightly running over the slightly wizened bones, then looked up at her. “Come visit me again? Next time I won’t drink.”

She gave a wry smile and shook her head. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ruy,” she said, a touch bitterly. He started to cringe back, but stopped as she cupped his face again. This time, she left a soft kiss on his forehead. “I still think you can be better. You just have to find a reason to. I wasn’t enough, but something will be, I know it.”

He looked up at her with soft eyes as she got to her feet. She took a look out at the city below. “This place suits you,” she said. “Much more than New York did.” She gave him a small smile. “But if you get lonely, you’re welcome to come visit me, too.”

He smiled a bit, swaying a bit as he got to his feet. “And Esteban?”

“Esteban will be thrilled to meet the famous Rodrigo Rivera.”

“Well, I can’t say no to that kind of ego-stroke from a man with such good taste.”


	2. Goodbye

                _When I’m older, I want to be a musician like you, Papá!_

                The words rang so clearly in Héctor’s head that he half-expected to see a little boy laying in the gleaming white casket as he walked toward it. But no, no. That was a man lying in there—still and quiet and beyond any hope of being saved. He reached forward and lightly brushed a hair that seemed to be stuck out of place even in death.

                “ _Ay_ , Ruy, what happened to you?’ he murmured, as if his youngest son would open his eyes and answer him. Granted, Rodrigo probably wouldn’t have answered in life, either.

                “Well, it’s not like this is _unexpected_ ,” Teto had said when they got the news of Rodrigo’s car accident—he’d plunged off the road and into the bay; driving while intoxicated was what the coroner had finally said was the cause.

Teto had refused to attend the viewing, and it’d taken a good dose of wheedling to ensure he’d be at the funeral. Certainly they’d never gotten along—that fake tooth in Teto’s head was proof of it—but Rodrigo was still his brother and _family came first_. Even when they frustrated you. Even when you didn’t like them.

                Even when they’d turned their backs on the family for three years.

                _Papá, look, I wrote a song! Can you listen to it?_

                Héctor swallowed hard, eyes darting up to the lid of the casket. The funeral was in just a few minutes, and he’d need to close the lid soon. He _should_ do it now, but…it was hard. It’d been hard with Leti, too—with the wig and makeup they’d put on her, she’d looked the healthiest she had in months.

                Was that it? Was that what had pushed Rodrigo away? Being constantly shooed off to Coco with a “Maybe later, Ruy,” while he and Imelda were busy with hospital bills, doctor visits, and his career on top of it all. That’s when the bright smiles started fading, when the sulkiness started, when the endless requests to play something with his Papá finally stopped.

                This wasn’t like Leti. The Rodrigo laying in this coffin looked nothing like his living counterpart. That Rodrigo was all constant, languid shifting, all quips and slow smiles and heavy-lidded eyes. He moved slowly, mostly due to his _problems_ , but he moved _constantly._ This Rodrigo was too still, too serious. Héctor liked this one less than the living one.

                Even so, he still couldn’t shut the lid.

                _I know it’s been a while, but I’m going to be conducting in El Distrito tonight. I know you have a couple gigs out here, so it’d really mean a lot if you could come see it, Papá?_

                None of his other children had gotten his love of music. They had other talents, certainly—Coco had been one of the most distinguished dancers in México before she retired to have her family; Mateo was wonderfully diplomatic—though whether that was innate or from dealing with the two most argumentative brothers in México was up for debate—and did such beautiful things with the Foundation; and Teto, well, his head for numbers was practically _legendary_ —just look at the Rivera Zapatos Corporation _._

But Ruy had _always_ had music in him, ready to burst out the moment he gave it the chance. Pages and pages of sheet music had covered his floor as a kid—Héctor had given him a notebook, just like the one he’d had, but Rodrigo had filled it in less than six months. And the music he made was _beautiful_ —vibrant and full of alegría, almost challenging the listener in its nearly manic liveliness. It was such a startling thing, hearing that come from such an angry, impulsive young man.

                Héctor had never managed to see Rodrigo conduct—there was never any time before Ruy ran away to New York—but he’d read the rave reviews about the performances, read articles about the near-child prodigy taking the musical world by storm with the way he pulled every conceivable emotion from the orchestras he led. There was a distant sort of pride in reading about Ruy; he was aware that this was his son, but he’d never seen him act the way these writers said he did. He couldn’t even imagine it. 

                There was one photo, on the front of some music magazine, that came out right after that first conducting job. Rodrigo, barely nineteen years old, staring straight at the camera, head held high with bright, clear eyes and the slightest hint of a smile—here was a young man ready to take on the world and all it had to offer.

                Héctor kept that one. After the accident, _that_ had been the Rodrigo he wanted to remember. Not the last one he’d seen.

                _“You’ve been disrespectful before but_ this, _Rodrigo? This is the last straw._ Out.”

 _“Oh, no, looks like the problem child didn’t live up to your expectations_ again. _Sorry, Papi._ ”

                _“Your mother and I have been_ nothing _but patient with you, and this is how you repay us? Ruining one of the few times we can be together as a family? Are you really_ that _much of an ungrateful mocoso? I keep thinking I can’t be more disappointed in you but you_ keep. surprising. me. _”_

_“Maybe if this family were more than an ego stroke to you, it’d be worth caring about.”_

_“_ What?”

                _“Tío Héctor, what a family man! Tío Héctor, what a good father! The whole_ world _thinks you’re this great papá because that’s what you_ tell _people to think! You’re really just a selfish, self-absorbed cabrón with a brood of_ bootlickers! _But what a family man, eh?”_

                “Get. Out. Of. My. House.”

                _“Don’t like hearing the truth? Sorry, Papi, but your youngest son’s the only one—”_

 _“You are_ NOT _my son. Now get._ OUT.”

                “… _Papá?”_

Héctor rubbed his eyes, as if it could push away the image of his grown son cringing back like a scared child, brown eyes wide and frightened, cheek still red from the hard slap. That was the last he’d seen of Rodrigo before today.

                _Dios_ , he’d never wanted it to end like this. He should have…

                “Héctor?”

                  Héctor turned, swallowing as Imelda, swathed in black, entered the room. She glanced at the open coffin, then up to him before her face softened.

                “You don’t want to close it.”

                Héctor tried to say that he would manage, that he had to do it and he would. But the moment Imelda’s hands rested on his face, he shook his head.

                “I don’t want to leave him like this,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I should have talked to him. I should have tried harder.”

                “But would he have listened?” Imelda asked gently. “We did the best we could with Ruy. We both know that.” As Héctor opened his eyes to look at her, he caught a glimmer of tears in hers as well. “He wouldn’t have changed. No matter what he did, he would still be the way he i—was.” She stroked his cheek. “But he’s home now. He’s here with his family. This is the most we’re able to do for him, mi vida.”

                Héctor swallowed and nodded. She was right. There was no way to go back, no way to fix whatever had broken their boy. For now, all they could do was tuck him in one last time.

                He took a deep breath as he broke away from Imelda and went back to the coffin. He raised his hands to the lid, pausing to get one last look at his youngest son—well, the still, quiet shell that was left of his son. A small hand rested over his own, and Imelda whispered, “It’s time to let him go, Héctor.”

                He took a long breath, then nodded. Both hands brought down the lid, and with a little click, Rodrigo was sealed away—leaving Héctor with nothing but bittersweet memories and endless questions about who his son could have been.


	3. Grace Note: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace note:  
> A kind of music notation used to denote several kinds of musical ornaments–that is, notes that give the performer the opportunity to add expressiveness to a song or piece.

  **~2002~**

               “So you’ve been dead for _two weeks_ and you’re still not used it? Man, two weeks in, I was already using my arm bones as bottle-openers.”

                “That’s…probably not safe, Chuy.”

                “I’m _dead_ , Sebastián. It’s not gonna hurt me.” Chuy leaned back in his seat, shaking his skull. “Look, you can’t just wallow in being dead. I mean, look at this place!” He waved at the brightly lit city around them, with skeletons animatedly wandering the streets. “We’re here to _party_.”

                Sebastián crossed his arms and shrugged, rolling his eyes but not responding. Chuy stared at him, then huffed.

                “You know what you need?”

                “A party?” Sebastián asked dryly, then jumped as Chuy slammed a bony fist on the table.

                “ _Yes._ You need to go somewhere where you can just forget about everything and _have fun._ You had tons of fun when we were alive! I saw you at, like, _every_ party Toya threw.” He snapped his fingers. “You know what, though? I’ve got the _perfect_ idea.”

                Sebastián grimaced. “I already don’t like it.”

                “No, cállate, listen.” Chuy leaned forward, giving Sebastián a wide grin. “I heard that Rodrigo Rivera’s having a party tonight. We’ll go to that and have the _best_ time.”

                Sebastián stared at him, sockets so wide his eyes threatened to fall right out. “Rodrigo Rivera.”

                “Sí.”

                “ _The_ Rodrigo Rivera.”

                “ _Sí._ ”

                “Like, _patron saint of parties and hungover students Rodrigo Rivera_.”

                “ _Sí sí sí!_ You in?”

                Sebastián grimaced, automatically going to adjust his baseball cap. “I dunno. Don’t you need an _invitation_ to go to celebrity parties?” He looked up as Chuy laughed.

                “For his stuff? Nah, it’s all open-invite. I’ve been to, like, three since I died last year. He just opens the doors and the party _begins._ ” He leaned forward to give Sebastián a good-natured punch to his ribcage, making the bones rattle slightly. “So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go home, change into something decent, and we’re gonna have _fun_ tonight at that party. Suena bien?”

                Sebastián crossed his arms again, debating. Going to a celebrity party _was_ something he’d always wanted to do, even if the celebrity had been dead for over fifty years.  And…maybe it’d take his mind off the whole being dead thing. Definitely better than slamming his hands on his keyboard like he had for the past few days. He sighed.

                “Okay, _fine._ But if there ends up being a bouncer, you’re the one who takes the blame.”

~

                It was probably the fifth time that Sebastián patted down his hair that he thought he _might_ be overdoing it. Chuy had said they should take the trolley together, but first of all, being crammed against a whole mess of skeletons was _not_ his idea of a good time. And second, the walk from his apartment to Rodrigo Rivera’s address gave him plenty of time to finish freaking out.

                Which, initially, he hadn’t _planned_ to do. He’d always thought that he’d be very chill when meeting celebrities, but, given the way he kept straightening his shirt, that _was not the case._

                Granted, meeting a musician he respected was definitely not the same as _going to a literal national treasure’s party._ Everyone who was even _slightly_ interested in music knew who Rodrigo Rivera was. This was Rodrigo “wrote three of México’s best symphonies in a ten year time period” Rivera. Rodrigo “did more living in 26 years than most people do in 80” Rivera. Even though odds weren’t high that he’d actually _see_ the man—he must have at _least_ fifty year’s worth of fans surrounding him at all times—just the thought of being _near_ him sent Sebastián’s nerves scattering.

                As he reached the plaza, he took a deep breath—remembering too late that he didn’t need to take it at all—and smoothed down the black dress shirt. Not his normal style, but he wanted to impress. This would be good. He’d go in, bask in being near Rodrigo Rivera, find Chuy and some fun, then feel better about the fact that he was nineteen and dead and would never accomplish everything he dreamed of.

                _Okay._

                Time to go in.

                He glanced down at the little paper with the address, browbone furrowing as he looked around. It was all apartments. Surely there’d be a bigger house somewhere around here…right? No? Just the apartments? Well then it must be a penthouse or something, because…

                His eyes were drawn to a large group of people hanging outside of a teal-painted apartment. That…couldn’t be it. No, _nooo._ Someone like _Rodrigo Rivera_ wouldn’t be living in a _ground-floor apartment._ He must have wound up in the wrong plaza—there were like eight Plaza de Rivera around this part of town, so he…

                “Oye! You made it!”

                Sebastián straightened up with a grimace as a hard slap on the back sent his ribs rattling, and he looked up as Chuy grinned at him.

                “So…this is the right plaza?”

                “Por supuesto.” Chuy nodded for Sebastián to follow him. “It’s that teal place, you can’t miss the crowds, man.”

                So…that really _was_ Rodrigo Rivera’s place. Well, maybe he lived a bit simpler than people would think. That wasn’t too unusual, actually. Larger than life people tended to be pretty private, right?

                Well, if you could call an open-invite party with at _least_ a hundred people in attendance private.

                As if he could sense Sebastián’s hesitance, Chuy grabbed his arm and dragged him forward, pushing his way into the actual house. Sebastián did his best to get in without pushing anyone, and his eyes went wide as they stepped in.

                _Ah._

                So _that’s_ where the money went.

                The apartment was _far_ larger than it looked outside and, from what he could see between the throngs of people, it was full of paintings, statues, and what had to be the best sound system Seba had _ever_ seen. Clearly Rodrigo Rivera knew how to live…even if he wasn’t actually _living_ anymore.

                “Mira, Sebastián. That’s him over there.”

                Sebastián looked to where Chuy was pointing, eyes wide. He couldn’t believe it. He was about to _see_ Rodrigo Rivera. In person. In his house.

                And…singing along to Shakira at the top of his non-existent lungs.

                Sebastián stared for at least thirty seconds, completely unsure of what exactly he was seeing. This was…not exactly what he’d expected with a composer who died in the _fifties_. Was it a joke? Was he being ironic? _Could someone ironically know every lyric to a Shakira song_? He finally broke his gaze as Chuy laughed.

                “Yeah, that’s _everyone’s_ reaction to seeing him.”

                “He’s, uh…”

                “Way shorter than you thought, right?”

                Sebastián blinked, then furrowed his browbone at Chuy. “There were at _least_ five other things that were more surprising than that.”

                Chuy laughed again. “No, no, he’s wild. No one ever expects him to be like…well, like that,” he said, nodding up as _Mexican National Treasure Rodrigo Rivera_ started twirling his hips in an almost scarily-accurate Shakira impression. “There’s always at least one person staring like you are.” He stretched his neck up, then waved to someone on the other side of the apartment. “Bianca’s here! You’ll like her a lot.” He took Sebastián’s arm and started pulling him away. “Vamos, come on! You’ll lose your jaw if you keep it dropped like that.”

                “Shouldn’t we…I dunno, say hi or something? Since he’s the host?”

                “Naah, he’s usually busy with his friends. Everyone else just kind of does whatever.” As he passed a counter, Chuy grabbed two beer bottles, popping off the cap of one with his arm bones before handing it to Sebastián. “Just _chill out_ , okay? You’ll have fun, and you can stop freaking out over being dead.”

                Sebastián was _pretty_ sure it wasn’t that easy. But…well, what was there to argue? So he shrugged and took a swig of beer.

                At the very least, this party should be an interesting distraction.

~

                Time had passed.

                Sebastián wasn’t really sure _how_ much time had passed. But he was probably on his…sixth?...beer, and he was tired, and the music was just starting to feel too loud and the apartment was suddenly very claustrophobic. Chuy’s friends were interesting, certainly, and for the past few hours, it’d been fun to talk with them. He was still very aware that he was dead and that everyone he was talking to was a skeleton, but after the third beer, that didn’t matter quite so much. Bianca was even starting to look a little cute with her pink and green face markings.

                Even so, it was time for him to find somewhere quiet. Preferably his apartment, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get all the way home. Did they have cabs here? He didn’t think so. He’d have to ask Chuy what…

                His hazy thoughts came to a quick halt, and he jolted upright in his seat as he felt something cold and wet slosh down the back of his shirt. Before he could stand up, a bony hand flopped onto his shoulder.

                “ _Ayyy_ , lo siento, guëy. I should’ve been more careful.”

                He blinked, then looked up to frown hard at the spiller. “Come on, that wasn’t…” Whatever he was about to say next died in his mouth as he made eye contact with _Rodrigo Rivera_.

                _Dios._ How many people got to say Rodrigo Rivera spilled a cocktail on them?

                “It’s…don’t worry ab—”

                “Shhh. Shhhhhhhhh.” Rodrigo leaned against the couch, patting Sebastián’s shoulder. “No, no. That’s not…it’s…whaaaat kinda host am I if I just…if I just spill things on people? I mean, mira, this shirt’s ruined now,” he slurred out.

                Sebastián glanced back at Chuy and the others, who were all caught somewhere between uncomfortable laughter and utter awe. So they were all in the same boat, then.

                “It’s not _ruined_ ,” he was finally able to say. “Don’t worry about it, Mae—” He was abruptly cut off by Rodrigo’s hand slamming over his mouth.

                “ _No._ Don’t you…you don’t call me maestro if I’m, if we’re _here._ I’m just…I’m Ruy, y’know?” He pulled his hand away, leaning more over the couch so he could narrow his eyes at Sebastián. “You know what, guëy? I’m gonna…you’re gonna take one’a _my_ shirts. S’least I can do ‘til we can get that one dry-cleaned. Don’t wanna smell like tequila…tequila? Maybe rum, I dunno what I put in that one…but you don’t wanna smell like that for the rest of the night. An’I’m a good host.” He pat Sebastián’s cheek, then stood up and started walking away.

                Sebastián blinked, then shook his head as he turned back to the group. “That was weird. _Ow!_ ” He scowled as Chuy smacked his arm.

                “ _What are you doing?_ Why are you still _here_?”

                Sebastián frowned as he rubbed his arm. “What?”

                “That was _Rodrigo Rivera._ ”

                “Yeah, and he’s completely wasted.”

                “You don’t _understand_ ,” Bianca said as she leaned forward. “He _never_ talks to people outside his orbit.”

                “But it’s an open in—”

                “Open invite doesn’t mean you get the chance to _talk to him!_ ” she whispered. “You gotta take this chance!”

                “ _Seriously_ , Sebastián. Don’t let this opportunity go!”

                Sebastián opened his mouth to argue, then looked up as he heard a shrill three-note whistle. Rodrigo, swaying slightly, waved him over.

                “Come on, guëy! ‘sjust…my room’s right over here!”

                Sebastián blinked, then turned back to Chuy. “ _He wants me to go to his bedroom?!_ ” he hissed.

                “And? You know the things _I_ would do for Rodrigo Rivera?” Chuy whispered back, then gave him a shove. “ _Go!_ ”

                Sebastián gave him a hard look, then glanced back to Rodrigo, who beckoned him over again. He grimaced, then got to his feet, stumbling slightly as he got his bearings. Okay. So this was weird. But…well, it’d make a good story, wouldn’t it? And well, even if it _was_ Rodrigo Rivera, he was still sober enough to stop things before they got _out-of-hand_ weird.

                Rodrigo pointed at him as he got closer, swaying slightly at the movement. “Allá vamos. You don’t wanna be stuck in that all night. ‘Sright down this way.”

                Sebastián followed Rodrigo down a hallway, glancing around at the skeletons meandering around—most seemed to be busy getting a _little_ closer than he thought skeletons could. He nearly walked right into Rodrigo as he came to a stop.

                “ _Oye_ , you guys know the rules. This doorway’s…this door’s _off limits._ ” He waved off the suddenly mortified couple, then opened the door and nodded for Sebastián to follow. He took a breath and did his best to shake off the sheer _weirdness_ of this situation, then walked in.

                “Uh…look, mae…uh, Señor Rivera, you really do—is that a _horse?_ ”

                Well, he _thought_ it was a horse, but it definitely had feathers. A lot of feathers. And its multi-colored coat seemed to be _glowing_ in the dim room. The kind-of-horse knickered at him, and Rodrigo shushed it as he walked over.

                “Be _nice_ , Preese. I messed up his shirt.” He pressed his forehead against her muzzle. “But yeah, ‘sweird he called me Señor Rivera. That’s kinda funny.”

                “Why is there a horse in your room?”

                Rodrigo looked up at him with wide eyes as he gently stroked her nose. “She doesn’t like parties. Ev’ryone…they try and ride her, y’know? Like she’s some…some pony at a fair or something.” She whinnied at him, and Rodrigo imitated her before adding, “I always _tell_ you when I’m gonna have ‘em. Don’…Don’be like that, Preese.” Rodrigo waved toward a closet. “Shirts’re in there. Take any of ‘em. Ponchos you gotta ask for, though, m’kay?”

                Sebastián blinked. “So…you were serious about giving me a shirt?”

                Rodrigo blinked, obviously trying to focus as he pressed his cheek to the horse’s nose. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m a…I’m a good host.”

                Sebastián started to reply, then shook his head. “Uh, all right.” Well, now that they’d gone through all this trouble, he may as well _actually_ borrow a shirt. The thought of spending the night smelling like tequila and orange juice didn’t sound that great, really. As he walked to the closet, he took a quick glance around the room. It was…surprisingly empty. A bed against one wall, a record player against the other, and stacks of old-looking records here and there. _Huh._ Based on the rest of the house, he’d assumed it’d be…well, like the rest of the house.

                He shook his head again, turning back to the closet and opening the door. He could hear Rodrigo murmuring to the horse, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. Well, he should focus on the shirts. There had to be something that wasn’t _too_ expensive and easy to clean so he could send it back. How _would_ he send it back? By mail? Would he drop by? Were there special delivery agents who gave things to celebrities? _Ugh,_ that’d just be _another_ thing he’d have to learn about here.

                “You a musician?”

                Sebastián blinked at the sudden question, at first assuming it was directed to the horse. He turned, finding Rodrigo crouched down and going through a few different records.

                “Me?”

                “Mmmmm-hm.”

                “Uh…yeah, I guess.”

                “What d’ya play?”

                “Um, piano.” He turned back to the shirts. “I was…actually going to school to become a concert pianist.”

                “Yeah? Jazz or classical?”

                “Jazz.”

                “Niiiiiice. You’re speaking to one of my first loves, guëy. You ever…you ever listen to these guys?”

                Sebastián glanced over his shoulder, then shook his head. Rodrigo’s head tipped back as he groaned.

                “Then you haven’t heard _perfection_ , chico!” He pulled himself up to his feet, thanking the horse as she helped steady him, then walked over to the record player. “Ir…this one girl, I was head over heels for her, she _loved_ these guys. And they hold up!” He popped the record in and switched it on, then sighed as quick, bright piano music filled the room. “Theeeere we go, that’s good.” He flopped down onto the floor, laughing as Sebastián started to lunge toward him worriedly. “Haaaa, you’re fresh, huh?”

                “What?”

                “Yooou’re a freshie. Just died. Still getting used all of _this,_ ” he said, holding up his hands to wiggle his bony fingers. “Am I right?”

                Sebastián glanced away. “Yeah, I’m still pretty new.”

                “You can always tell. Or I can, anyway.” He gasped and started snapping. “Escucha! This part’s _the best._ ” He awkwardly patted at the floor. “Wait…wait a minute on the shirts. Lay down.”

                “ _What._ ”

                “You gotta lay down! Me an’ Iria, this is the _only_ way we listened to this record!”

                Sebastián hesitated. Okay. This was getting weird to the point of ducking out. “I sho—”

                “ _Hurry!_ ”

                The sheer urgency in Rodrigo’s voice made Sebastián drop down. Figuring he was down this far, he sighed and laid down, his head not far from Rodrigo’s.

                “You listening?”

                “Mm-hm.”

                “Good. This sorta music…if you wanna do jazz, this…I mean…just listen, okay?”

                “Okay.”

                Rodrigo fell silent, and Sebastián listened. It…was weirdly satisfying, laying down and just listening to the music. The record was a little scratchy, but that just added to the experience, oddly enough. Maybe it was the beer, or just him acclimating to the sheer weirdness of the situation, but he felt…relaxed. More relaxed than he had been in the past two weeks.

                He let out a breath, sinking down slightly into the rug as he shut his eyes.

                “You have a girl back home?”

                Sebastián opened his eyes, tilting his head back to look at Rodrigo. “Uh, yeah.”

                “You two close?”

                Sebastián swallowed, looking up at the ceiling. “Uh, yeah. We were.” Dios, he hadn’t thought of Sara once since he’d come here. Was she okay? Had she handled the news well? What if he’d ruined her life by dying?

                 “You miss her.” This one wasn’t a question. “That’s good.”

                Sebastián tilted his head back again. “It is?”

                “Mm. Means it meant something. Not everyone gets that, you know.” He let out a breath, head falling back slightly. “There’s not a lot of good hurt out there, but that kind…that kind’s good. Hang on to that. Sometimes that’s enough to help you keep it together, especially with your first few weeks here.”

                “Uh, gracias.”

                Rodrigo waved a hand, then snapped again. “Ay, _this song!_ This is one of my _favorites._ Listen to the piano in it, you’ll like it.”

                Sebastián watched Rodrigo for a moment, eyes following the easy movement of his hand in time to the music.

                This was _weird._

                But…well, not everyone got to say they laid on the ground and listened to music with one of Mexico’s top composers. May as well go along with it.

                Besides, the record _was_ really good.

~

                This wasn’t the first time Sebastián had woken up on the floor in a stranger’s house. He’d had his share of crashing at parties, after all.

                This _was_ the first time this had happened since he’d died, though. And it was a little unfair that his back was sore, considering he didn’t have any muscles to tweak. He grimaced and rubbed his face as he sat up.

                The horse weirded him out a little less. So did seeing Mexican National Treasure Rodrigo Rivera curled up against her, fast asleep.

                Huh. What a weird night.

                Sebastián stretched, giving his spine a few satisfying pops, then got to his feet. Well, _that’d_ be a story to tell. But it was kinda fun. As he headed to the door, the horse knickered, and he glanced back to see a skeletal hand wave at him.

                “Oye, get a clean shirt. I’m serious about that.”

                Sebastián blinked, but shrugged. Well. That just added to the story, didn’t it? He went to the closet and grabbed a plain gray t-shirt. He hesitated a moment, then shook his head as he started unbuttoning his tequila-soaked shirt. This just fit the night too well, really. He pulled on the t-shirt, then headed for the door.

                “Hey, guëy.”

                Sebastián glanced back. This time, Rodrigo—looking the most hungover he’d ever seen a skeleton look—popped his head over the horse’s side. “Good talking last night. You should drop by again.”

                “Uh, yeah. It was fun. Thanks for showing me that record.”

                “No, en serio, drop by again. Like…I dunno, Monday.”

                Sebastián blinked. “O…kay. I’ll drop by Monday.” That gave him a way to return the shirt, at least. “I’ll see you then, Maes—”

                “ _Ruy._ ”

                “…Ruy.”

                Rodrigo nodded, then collapsed back down against the horse. He lifted his hand to give Sebastián a thumb’s up and a wave before that disappeared, too. Sebastián gave an awkward wave, then made his way out.

                The house was much more empty than before, but there were still several skeletons fast asleep in various points of the house. Sebastián carefully picked his way through, staying as quiet as possible so as to not wake anyone up. Finally, he made it out of the apartment and out into Plaza de Rivera. He squinted at the sun, then took a deep breath that bubbled out of him as a laugh a moment later. He kept laughing as he walked, shaking his head.

                What. A. _Night._ He guessed Chuy was right, though; it definitely took his mind off being dead for a few hours.

           

 


	4. Grace Note - Part 2

                Okay. _Oooookay_. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but here it was.

                Sebastián was about to _hang out_ with Rodrigo Rivera.

                Of course, he hadn’t really _planned_ to actually go through with Rodrigo’s invitation. The guy had obviously been drunk beyond thinking, and he wouldn’t want some nobody to come in and bother him because he drunkenly invited him over. Really, if he hadn’t talked to Chuy about it, he would have just spent the day at home.

                “So you’re telling me that _Rodrigo Rivera_ invited you to his house, and you’re gonna _blow him off_?” he’d asked incredulously, stopping Sebastián’s laughter as he finished the story.

                “Well, not blow him off. He won’t _actually_ want me barging in.”

                “So? This is a _once-in-a-lifetime_ opportunity, Sebastián!”

                “I mean, technically…”

                “ _Shh._ No.” Chuy pointed a bony finger right in Sebastián’s face. “ _You_ are gonna take him up on his offer, and you’re gonna go hang out with him.” As Sebastián started to shrug, he added, “Okay, do you not understand that, like, _ninety-nine percent of musicians_ would literally kill for this opportunity?”

                “Good thing we’re d—”

                “ _Just go see him, Sebastián_!”

                So here he was, heading over to _hang_ with Rodrigo Rivera. This was…well, it wasn’t _hell,_ but this sort of thing _definitely_ wouldn’t be possible when he was alive. Ah well. At least he’d get to return the t-shirt.

                Sebastián looked around Plaza de Rivera as he walked up, looking around for the teal apartment. Ah, there it was. But it looked… _different_ when there weren’t people everywhere. The porch was huge now that it wasn’t crammed with people trying to get in, and the only signs that there had been any life (so to speak) was the cigarettes, cans, and bottles littered around. Didn’t celebrities have people come by to clean up for them? Maybe that was different in the Land of the Dead.

                He carefully stepped around the debris, walking up to the door. He smoothed down his dress shirt (the only other one he had; hopefully he’d stop having to hang around famous people soon), then took a breath before knocking on the door.

                For a moment, there was no answer. Maybe…he wasn’t home? Good, then he could just go home.

                Buuut…what if he just hadn’t heard? In that case, Sebastián could still just go home. Pop the shirt in the mail slot, head home, and never go to a Rodrigo Rivera party again. It’s not like he’d _see_ him anywhere.

                “ _Ninety-nine percent of musicians would literally_ kill _for this opportunity!_ ”

                Chuy’s words rang in his skull, and he gave a little whine before shaking his head. He never wanted this. He’d just wanted to forget that he was dead for a little bit. He didn’t want _this._

                He took a breath and knocked on the door again, louder than before. If the door wasn’t answered this time, he’d…

                “Uuuuuu _uuugghhhh_.”

                Sebastián stepped back as he heard the groan on the other side of the door, along with some indistinct mumbling and a few bangs and crashes. So…he was _probably_ not wanted here. He shifted back and forth, unsure of what to do. If Rodrigo didn’t want to see him, then he should leave. But if he opened the door, then it’d be rude to not be there.

                Uuuuuu _uuugghhhh_. Why was this _so hard?_

                He shook his head and was just preparing to shove the t-shirt through the mail slot when the door opened. He jumped back, blinking as Rodrigo Rivera slumped in the doorway, holding up a mug and giving a lazy smile without actually focusing his eyes.

                “Buenos…uh, buenas? Buenas… _hola_.” He took a long drink, then gave his head and shoulders a shake before actually looking at Sebastián. He gave a slow blink before straightening himself, frowning slightly. “You’re not who I expected. Why’d you knock?”

                “Because…it’s polite?”

                “Well, don’t. It’s mean to do that to someone in my condition.” He rubbed his bloodshot eyes before looking up at Sebastián again. “So, uh…why’re you here?”

                Despite all of his wanting to leave before now, a little flare of insult lit up in Sebastián’s chest. But of course Rodrigo wouldn’t remember him; clearly he’d been partying all weekend, and asking one random guy to hang out while completely wasted would definitely be one of the first things he forgot. He swallowed, then held out the shirt.

                “You, uh, you loaned me this at your party.”

                Rodrigo laughed. “You’re gonna have to be _way_ more specific than that, güey.”

                Sebastián puffed through his…well, his nasal cavity. “The one on Friday. You spilled your drink on me and…”

                “ _Sí!_ Oh, sí sí sí, you’re the piano player, right?” Rodrigo gave him a grin, but then his browbone furrowed as he rubbed his forehead. “Ay, did I say _today_?”

                “Look, if it’s too much trouble, I can—” Sebastián was cut off by a bony finger being jabbed in his face.

                “ _No._ No.” Despite the obvious hangover, Rodrigo’s face was fierce as he looked Sebastián in the eyes. “If I told you we were gonna hang out, then we’re gonna _hang out_ , okay?” He grimaced, then took another long sip from his mug. “But, uh…maybe give me a half hour?”

                “Sure thing,” Sebastián said slowly. “I’ll, uh…I’ll be back.”

                Rodrigo winked and gave him a thumbs up before starting to shut the door. As Sebastián turned to walk away, he called, “Oye, you heading to a recital today?”

                Sebastián turned with a frown. “No?”

                Rodrigo nodded downwards. “You like dressing like you’re headed to one, then?”

                Sebastián blinked, feeling a curl of embarrassment build in him as Rodrigo called him out for being overdressed. However, there wasn’t much time to feel mortified before Rodrigo laughed.

                “Tell you what, güey, you go change into clothes you actually like wearing, I’ll sober up, and then we’ll start hanging out. Suena bien?”

                Sebastián half-smiled and nodded. Rodrigo gave him another thumbs-up, then shut the door. Sebastián blinked, then shook his head with a laugh as he started walking back to his apartment.

                Yeah, this would _definitely_ be a story.

~

                It wasn’t until he was on his way back to Rodrigo’s place—now much more comfortable in his shorts, tank-top, and baseball cap—that he realized that hanging out with Rodrigo Rivera meant actually… _hanging out._ So…were they supposed to talk? Was he expecting him to play? When would be a good time to mention that he hadn’t played since before he died?

                Sebastián swallowed as he approached the door again. He started to lift his hand to knock, but stopped. Rodrigo didn’t like knocking, apparently. So did he just…

                Aw, the hell with it.

                Sebastián twisted the knob, and the door was indeed open. He poked his head in, glancing around and automatically jumping back as a loud nicker greeted him.

                _Right._ He’d forgotten the horse. He started backing out as she stared at him, stamping her foot and raising her feathered mane.

                “Hey, _heyyy,_ ‘Preese, that’s our guest!” Rodrigo—looking slightly better than he had a little while ago—stumbled out into the main room of the apartment, immediately patting the horse’s side. “C’mon, you liked him plenty last time he was here.” He waved for Sebastián to come forward. “You can come in, she won’t hurt you.”

                Sebastián glanced at Rodrigo, then slowly walked up to the horse. Was this like those horse movies, where he should hold out his hand? What if she bit it? He’d never been near a horse before, how was he supposed to know how to greet one! He flinched as she gave a huff.

                “ _Caprice_. Don’t scare him.” He mumbled something Sebastián couldn’t quite make out to her, and she gave one last whinny before lowering her head to nudge it against Sebastián’s ribcage. “There, see? She likes you!”

                Sebastián looked up at Rodrigo, then carefully patted Caprice’s multi-colored mane. She seemed to approve. “So, uh…where’d you get her?”

                Rodrigo laughed. “You really are new, huh?” He ran his hand down the side of Caprice’s coat. “You don’t _get_ alebrijes anywhere. They just kind of show up when you do.” He leaned against her with a smile. “No one really knows where they come from or how you get ‘em, but I think they’re all animals you had a bond with in life.”

                Sebastián frowned. “I didn’t know you had a horse. I mean, none of the things I’ve read about you mentioned that.”

                Rodrigo half-smiled. “Yeah, guess they covered that whole thing up pretty quick.” He shrugged. “ _Legally,_ I never owned a horse. And I wasn’t able to keep Caprice, even though I tried.” He buried his face into Caprice’s side. “But we found each other again. That’s what matters.”  

                Sebastián blinked, and just as he was about to ask about that _legal_ part, Rodrigo pushed himself away from Caprice’s side to smile at him. “So! We’re hanging out! Want me to get you a drink? I was about to fix one for myself.”

                Sebastián frowned. “Didn’t you say you were trying to sober up?”

                “Well, yeah, but then you came over, so I want to be a good host.” He turned around, walking backwards toward the kitchen. “So what’s your poison?” He grimaced. “You didn’t die of poison, right?” Sebastián shook his head. “ _Perfecto._ Then tell me what your favorite drink is. Guarantee I can make it right now.”

                Sebastián shifted awkwardly, hand still on Caprice’s mane. “I, uh, it’s still pretty early so…I’d really love some coffee.”

                “Sure. With Irish cream?”

                “No.”

                “Ah. Straight whiskey?”

                “ _No._ Just…just a coffee.” He looked up at Rodrigo, who was still looking a little unsteady. “And, uh, maybe you should have one, too.” He froze up immediately once the words left his mouth. _Dios_ , had he just said that? To _Rodrigo Rivera?_ You don’t tell the _patron saint of hungover students_ not to _drink._

                Rodrigo looked up at him, browbone furrowed. Just as Sebastián braced himself to be chided or chased out of the house, though, he let out a laugh and pointed at him.

                “I like the way you think, güey!” He shuffled over to an ancient-looking coffeemaker. “Start the morning off right, then you can _really_ feel it later.”

                “Uh, yeah.” He looked down as Caprice nudged his ribcage again. “I haven’t forgotten you!” he said, patting her mane again. Rodrigo laughed, the sound carrying over the sputtering coffeemaker.

                “Ay, she likes you! I told you she did.” He waved as he dug around his cupboards. “Don’t worry about her. You can sit if you want,” he said. “’Preese, let the poor man go.”

                Caprice huffed, but stepped back. Sebastián gave her a little smile, then walked toward the sofa…which was covered in sheet music. He frowned a bit, starting to pick them up. Half of the pages seemed to be filled out; the others had scattered bits of writing where the notes should be. _Mov. 2 – LOUD!!! Mov. 1 –too much like HR. Less trad. Less guitar. More Sel. Mov. 5 –too Ir. Less cello._

Sebastián squinted at the notes. Fascinating as it was to have a look into a musical genius’s mind, this was all nonsense. He couldn’t even begin to think of what these notes meant.

“You come just to steal my stuff, chico?”

Sebastián jumped as Rodrigo spoke. “No! I just…these were on the sofa, and I…” He trailed off as Rodrigo laughed, setting one mug on a booklet of piano exercises.

                “Qué nervioso! You always like this when you visit friends?” Rodrigo took the papers from him, sipping his coffee as he looked over the sheets. He made a face before tossing them over his shoulder. “ _I_ should be embarrassed; I let you see that garbage with your own eyes.”

                “I don’t think it was…” Sebastián glanced back as Rodrigo cleared a spot on the sofa, then sat down and took the mug of coffee. “Ah…gracias. For…for the coffee. And the seat. And your…hospitality?”

                Rodrigo waved his free hand as he dropped into an armchair. “De nada, güey. I like having people over.” He looked over his coffee mug, brown eyes meeting Sebastián’s directly. Was… he supposed to say something? Oh, he probably was. But what? What did you talk about with famous people? Especially famous _dead_ people? Suddenly, he wished he’d taken Rodrigo up on having something a little stronger than coffee. He took a quick drink to steady himself before trying to figure out what to say.

                “Um, I…um, I’m a _really_ big fan of your work,” he said. “Like, your second concerto? _Amazing_. From a technical standpoint alone it’s just superb—we actually performed it last spring at the conservatorio and it was…”

                “Hey, shut up.”

                Sebastián sat up straight. He blinked, then gave Rodrigo a hard frown. “Sorry, _what?_ ”

                Rodrigo let his head fall back with a groan. “It’s the same thing every time someone comes over. ‘Wow, maestro, I love your work! Señor Rivera, let me tell you about the essay I wrote about your third concerto!’” He shook himself. “Ech, no, _no_. I don’t want to hear about me. I already live with me, and that’s too much.” He took another drink of coffee before looking up at Sebastián. “Talk about yourself for a bit. People love talking about themselves.”

                Sebastián grimaced. “I…there’s not much to talk about.” He puffed. “I died before I could do anything interesting.”

                “ _Oye_ , that’s not true. You know what I got up to by the time I was your age?”

                “A…lot?”

                “Maybe. I don’t remember all that well.” Rodrigo kicked his legs up to sprawl sideways on the chair as he drained his cup. “All of that… _young adulthood_ is kind of a blur. But you know what? It was a _damn good blur._ ” He shook his head as he set the mug on the ground. “But that’s me again. You! We’re talking about you. You written anything?”

                Sebastián shrugged. “Nothing really worth mentioning. And anyway, it’s all…” He gestured vaguely. “Y’know. Back home.”

                “Well, that shouldn’t stop you. Some people really take off here, you know?”

                Sebastián grimaced. “I’m…not that good. I mean, I’m good but…” He shrugged. “I don’t know! I’m not interesting! And I-I don’t even mean that in a ‘oh I’m actually _super_ interesting, I just want to be modest’ way. I lived a standard life and I died and I still…I just…” He set his cup down to bury his face in his hands. “I don’t _know._ ”

                He stayed put like that for a long moment. He heard Caprice huff out a breath, and an odd scrape of bone on bone—Rodrigo must have been rubbing his neck or something.

                “I…this is awkward, huh?”

                Despite himself, Sebastián let out a high-pitched laugh and shook his head. “ _Dios_.” He dragged his hands down his face as he looked up, then swallowed. “Look, I’m…it’s an honor that you asked me to hang out with you. But…I’d really just like to go home.”

                Rodrigo stared at him for a moment, then sat up as he cleared his throat. “Sure, yeah! Of course you can go home. I’m not holding you hostage or anything.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Um…I mean, I’m probably not the best guy to talk to, but…”

                He trailed off as the door opened, with a loud, shrill whistle cutting through the talk. His eyes lit up, and he got to his feet.

                “Ruy? You better be home this time!”

                “ _Tonio!_ ” The entering skeleton barely got through the door before Rodrigo tackled him in a hug. “Qué pesado, you don’t even give me any warning!”

                “ _I_ don’t give you any warning? _You_ told me to come by on Monday.”

                “I did? Ave María Purísma, I had Monday on the brain, I guess. Vamos, vamos, you’re just in time to meet the other friend I forgot I told to come by on Monday.”

                Sebastián looked up, curious. A skeleton—it was hard to tell how old he was, but he guessed around middle-age—in a wide-brimmed hat and smart black suit walked in, laughing as Rodrigo hung on him.

                “You gonna let me breathe, Ruy?”

                “You don’t need to do that anymore and you know it.” Rodrigo grinned at Sebastián as he waved at the other skeleton. “ _This_ is Antonio Marquez. Dunno if you’ve heard of him bu—”

                “ _Antonio Marquez?!_ ”

                “Oh, so you have.”

                Seba got to his feet, blinking very fast as he tried to force himself to believe that this was _actually happening._ “I-I-I, I listened to your stuff _all_ through secundaria! My mamá was the one who got me playing piano but…but _you_! Listening to your stuff, everything you did…I-I-I mean, I’m sorry, I just…” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “I…I can’t believe that you’re _here?_ ”

                Antonio laughed, nudging Rodrigo. “You didn’t tell me you had a fan with you today.”

                Sebastián clamped his mouth shut, and he was sure he’d be bright red if he could still blush. “Uh, sorry, I…” He grimaced. “I…should probably get going anyway. I mean, you probably have im-important stuff to…uh…I mean…” He stopped as Rodrigo plopped an arm across his shoulders.

                “Look, güey, the only plan we have is to toast to our obvious mortality and share some chisme.” He grinned. “You may not believe it, but Tonio and I were pals. He just had the indecency to make it all the way to forty-five without me.”

                “Not all of us can catapult off a bridge during our prime, Ruy,” Antonio said, taking off his hat and tossing it onto a nearby statue.

                Rodrigo made a dismissive noise before looking back to Sebastián. “Look, I’m not forcing you to stay. But if you wanna stay and talk with us two old guys, then _por favor_ , sit and talk with us. It’ll be fun to listen to someone besides that chatterbox over there.”

                “ _Oye_ , you’re the one who gets off-topic.”

                Sebastián glanced between the two of them, then gave a small smile. _Dios_ , how could he pass up an offer like this? “If…you don’t mind.”

                Rodrigo grinned. “Nah, ‘course we don’t mind!” He gestured to Antonio. “This, you know, is Antonio Marquez Duran, classically trained pianist and _surprisingly_ good building climber.” He brought his hand over to gesture toward Sebastián. “And _this_ is…” Rodrigo trailed off, jaw clicking as he shut it and looked up at Sebastián with a raised browbone. Sebastián stared back, confused, then immediately frowned as it hit him.

                “You asked me to hang out and you don’t know _my name?_ ”

                “Ha, lo siento, güey. In my defense, no one ever introduces themselves to me. It’s always ‘Oh, you’re _Rodrigo Rivera!_ ’ and they leave it at that.”

                “Then why don’t you _ask_?”

                “Most of the time I wouldn’t be bothered to remember their name anyway.” As Sebastián glowered at him, he laughed and pushed Sebastián’s ballcap askew. “Tranquilo, tranquilo, güey! I’ll remember yours, don’t worry.”

                Sebastián sighed, then looked up at Antonio as he held out his hand. “I’m Sebastián Alvarez.”

                “This is Seba,” Rodrigo said with a grin. As Sebastián was about to protest the nickname, he added, “And, can you believe it, he’s a jazz pianist, too.”

                Sebastián looked at him with wide eyes, then back to Antonio as he laughed.

                “Another one? I should’ve guessed; I swear Ruy’s got a pianist-magnet in him somewhere,” he said, shaking Sebastián’s hand. “Encantado. So how’d you die, Sebastián?”

                Sebastián seized up. “I, uh…I…”

                “ _Ay_ , we’re talking music, not mortality.” Rodrigo leaned against Sebastián again, whispering, “He just wants an excuse to complain about how _boring_ his death was.”

                “It’s not _boring._ ”

                “Accidentally overdosing on sleeping pills? It is, _literally_ , a snoozefest.”

                Antonio laughed and waved Rodrigo off. “Well, you’re right. We’re talking about music… _after_ Ruy makes me one of his famous tequila sunrises. I have a meeting with my manager this afternoon and I need to be at least a _little_ happier before going in to see her.”

                Rodrigo winked and gave him a thumb’s up, then made his way back to the kitchen. “You good with a tequila sunrise, too, Seba?”

                “Uh, yeah, definitely.” He grinned as he followed Antonio back to the couch. “So, uh, do you mind if I ask a few questions? About your playing?”

                “Only if you don’t call me a genius,” Antonio said with a chuckle, settling down on the sofa.

                “And…can I take notes?”

                “Be my guest.”

                Sebastián grinned even wider, then looked around. “Uh, ma—Rodrigo?”

                “Nope.”

                “Ruy?”

                “There we go.”

                “Do you have something I could…” He shrugged a little and made a writing gesture. Rodrigo laughed.

                “You’re _surrounded_ by paper, Seba. Use the backs of those sheets, I’m not using them.”

                “ _Gracias!_ ”

                The conversation started with several questions from Sebastián, but once Rodrigo came back, it became _much_ more relaxed, with a lot of teasing between Antonio and Rodrigo and plenty of opportunities for Sebastián to jump in with his own thoughts on Mexico’s current musical state. (He was very surprised at how seriously the other two listened to him; he was practically a _baby_ in the music world.) Antonio despaired over the death of jazz, but seemed reassured when Sebastián assured it was still alive, just quiet. Rodrigo crowed over how poppy, happy music was still dominating the charts—it wasn’t like having Selena back, of course, but he could hardly complain when she was doing concerts _here._ (Sebastián was _floored_ and accused Rodrigo of joking; Rodrigo met his eyes dead-on as he held up a remote and started playing “El Chico del Apartemento 512” loud enough to prompt a complaint from his neighbor.)

                Eventually, though, Antonio excused himself. “I know, I know, I’m going too soon,” he said as Rodrigo stood up. “But you know how Adelina gets—she hasn’t changed in fifty years, let me tell you.” He smiled as he clapped Sebastián on the shoulder. “Good to know Ruy’s still got an eye for músicos. Tell you what, next party, you and I’ll mess around on the piano for a bit and come up with something fan _-tas-_ tico _._ Bueno?”

                Sebastián nodded eagerly, giving Antonio another wide grin. “It was _amazing_ talking to you. I’ll remember what you said about switching tempos, it’s ge—” At Antonio’s raised browridge, he laughed and amended, “It’s great.”

                Antonio gave him a nod as he grabbed his hat and headed out the door. Rodrigo shouted a goodbye after him, then flopped back onto the couch. He looked up at Sebastián with a grin.

                “Oye, don’t look so starry-eyed,” he teased, then laughed as Sebastián tried to bring his face into check. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Tonio’s a cool guy. Glad you two hit it off so well.” He picked up his glass and drained the last bit of his drink out of it. “It’s always nice when friends like each other, you know?”

                Sebastián looked over at Rodrigo. Friend _s_? As in the plural? That seemed a little…

                “ _Anyway!_ You wanna stay for a while longer? Things should be less awkward, at least.”

                Sebastián blinked, then looked down at his notes. Certainly things would be less awkward, but… “I…kinda want to head back to my keyboard.” He smiled a bit. “I haven’t been this inspired since…well, _before_.”

                “Then go! Get out of here!” Rodrigo said, standing up and shooing Sebastián out. “When the muse calls, she calls!” He followed Sebastián to the door, opening it for him and ushering him out. However, once he was on the porch, Rodrigo leaned in the doorway. “But hey, if you get stuck, come on over, okay? Can’t say I’ll be able to help, but I _can_ make sure you don’t think about it for a little while, and sometimes that’s help enough.”

                Sebastián laughed and nodded. “I’ll be right over the minute I get stuck. And maybe I can show you something better than Selena to listen to.”

                “ _Oye_ , no blasphemy in my house,” Rodrigo said with mock-stern face, then gave Sebastián one last lazy grin and salute. “Te veo, Seba. Don’t be a stranger.” With that, he shut the door.

                Sebastián blinked at the quick goodbye, but grinned as he looked down at the notes in his hands. Sure, he was dead and a prime example of lost potential.

                But apparently he was friends with two of Mexico’s top musical geniuses.

                So…he guessed things were starting to even out.

               

               


	5. Grace Note - Part 3

                “Dios _mio,_ Sebastián, I didn’t think you’d _actually_ become friends with Rodrigo Rivera!”

                “You think _I_ was expecting it?” Sebastián laughed as Chuy pushed another beer his way across the table. “Apparently Ruy just latches on to people for the hell of it.”

                “Oh, so he’s _Ruy_ to you now,” Bianca teased.

When Sebastián shrugged, her friend Leta leaned against him with a big grin. “Come _oooon_ , tell us what he’s really like! Bianca hung out with him for ages and she _never_ talks about him.”

                Bianca sat up straight. “I’m _protecting_ his _privacy_ ,” she said stiffly.

                 “He’s a celebrity, he doesn’t get privacy.” Leta looked up at him again. “So come on. What’s the _real_ Rodrigo Rivera like?”

                Sebastián shrugged again as he took a swig of beer. “I dunno, nice? Like, he’s way nicer than I thought he’d be. Escuchen esto, he let me join his hangout with _Antonio Marquez._ Like, we all talked about music and techniques and it was _just…_ ” He laughed and shook his head. “I can’t describe it. Just… _amazing._ ” He smiled as he took another drink. “So Ruy’s a really cool guy. Though, this is kinda funny, he didn’t even _know my name_ until he started trying to introduce me.” That got a laugh from the group.

                “Look at Sebastián, hanging out with musical royalty and _they don’t even know his name!_ ”

                Sebastián shook his head. “No, no, it’s not like that. I think he felt _really_ bad about it. It’s been ‘Seba’ this and ‘Seba’ that since then.”

                The laughing quickly stopped, replaced by wide-eyed stares. Chuy leaned forward.

                “Wait, you’ve hung out with him _since_ then?” he asked.

                Sebastián blinked, bottle still at his mouth. “Well, yeah. He keeps inviting me over to talk music.” He smiled a bit as he set the bottle down. “It’s…actually been kicking me back into playing. I’ve spent all my time lately at my keyboard because he keeps bugging me about ‘following my muse’ or whatever.” He jumped as Chuy knocked off his cap with a laugh.

                “Mira, mira! Pretty soon _Sebastián’s_ gonna be the famous one!”

                The group laughed, Sebastián included, until Chuy looked at his watch and whistled. “Ay, enough pre-gaming. We better get going if we wanna get more than half a couch at Rodrigo’s.”

                There was a general murmur of agreement, and Sebastián waved for them to go on as he went to grab his cap from behind the sofa. As he stood up, he raised his browridge as he saw Bianca hanging in the room, watching him with…concern? Was that concern?

                “Uh, hey, Bianca. You all right?’

                She shifted back and forth uncomfortably, tugging at the bangles on one of her wrists.

                “I…I wanted to wait until everyone was gone before talking to you,” she said quietly. “I just…I mean, I’m really happy you’re actually becoming friends with Ruy. Like, it’s great. But…just…be careful, okay?”

                Sebastián frowned. “What? Like, with the drinking? Because I try to make him…”

                “No, no. Just…” She let out a puff, shifting again. “Look. He’s a _celebrity._ He doesn’t…see people the way normal people do, you know?’

                “No, I don’t.”

                Bianca tugged on her bangles again. “Look, I was…in the same position you’re in now. When I first died, Ruy…” She puffed at her bangs. “…he randomly took an interest in me and we were… _inseperable._ But then…” She blinked a few times before looking at Sebastián again, eyes glimmering. “Then he just _stopped._ Someone else must have caught his eye, I guess.” She brushed the bottom of her sockets with her fingertips. “Sorry, sorry. But the point is, he…does this sort of thing. Finding newly dead people and treating them like something shiny until he loses interest. And I don’t want him to do that to you, you know?”

Sebastián swallowed, fiddling with his hat until he puffed out a breath. This was… _awkward._ Was he supposed to…comfort her? Or hug her? Or say that he wouldn’t hang out with Ruy since it upset her this much? “Uh…well, thanks for the heads up, I guess.” He grimaced at his own answer before pulling his hat back on. “But…uh, you don’t have to worry. I mean, it’s nice of you, but…well, me and Ruy aren’t _that_ close.”

Bianca nodded, brushing at her sockets again. Sebastián stuck his hands in his pockets.

“You, uh, you good to go to the party? Seems like…it…might be uncomfortable for you.” He grimaced again, but she shook her head.

“No, no. I’m…” She took a breath. “I’m fine now. I just want you to be careful.”

He nodded slowly, then trailed behind her as she led the way out. It was…nice, he guessed, that she was worried. But…Ruy didn’t see him as some sort of novelty, right? They were just friends…friends because Ruy was aggressively insisting they were, but still friends. That was different than what Bianca had.

Even so, he couldn’t stop the little voice in his head that said, “ _Maybe not.”_

_~_

                Something about the party tonight felt… _weird._ And Sebastián was ninety-percent sure it was because of Bianca’s warning and his own brain (did he still have that?) overthinking things, but…still. He was tense, and the drink in his hand wasn’t helping—he wound up giving up on it and leaving it half-full on the table.

                Everyone else seemed to be having a good enough time, though. Even Bianca seemed to have shaken off her tears to have fun talking with the group. So…yeah, this was definitely a _him_ thing. Well, he hadn’t seen Ruy once tonight, so he could…

                “You trying to hide from me or something, Seba?”

                Sebastián jumped so hard his ribs rattled, which was _very disconcerting_ , and looked up as Ruy laughed and leaned his arms on the back of the sofa.

                “Perdón, perdón, I didn’t mean to scare you, güey,” he laughed, then nodded behind him with a grin. “You know what, I managed to clear off the piano last time Tonio was over, and there’s no better place than a party to whip out the newest thing you’ve been working on.”

                “Uh, what?”

                Rodrigo laughed. “I’m saying you should _play_. You’d knock ‘em dead.” He shrugged. “Well, dead- _er._ ”

                Sebastián stiffened, suddenly aware that the group had gone silent. Unconsciously, he glanced up at Bianca, who gave him a pained expression. _Dios_ , maybe he really was trying to flaunt him like some sort of toy.

                “Uh, not…not now, Ruy,” he said, sinking down in his seat. Rodrigo groaned and leaned over the back of the sofa.

                “ _Sebaaa_ , come _ooon._ Talent like yours should…”

                “What do you know? You’ve seen me play about _five_ notes,” Sebastián snapped. Rodrigo blinked, pulling himself up, and Sebastián sank a little lower in the seat. “Just…I’m gonna stay here and talk. Okay?”

                Ruy blinked a few more times, then stood up straight and rubbed the back of his head. “Uh, sí, sí, claro.” He half-smiled. “Another time, then. Maybe.” He gave a quick nod to the group, then slowly drew away, glancing back at Sebastián with creased brows before turning to the bar and enthusiastically greeting someone there. Sebastián puffed through his nasal cavity as he turned back to the group, who stayed quiet.

                “So, uh…trouble in paradise?” Chuy finally asked, giving Sebastián’s arm a nudge. Sebastián shook his head.

                “I…look, we’re not actually _friends._ He’s just invited me over, and I guess he thinks that’s a good enough reason to have me perform like a…like a dog or something.” The words felt wrong as they left his mouth, but…well, they had to be true. The most remarkable thing about him was that he was a new face. Without meaning to, he glanced up at Bianca, who gave him a solemn nod in return. So he’d done the right thing putting distance between him and Rodrigo.

                But why didn’t it _feel_ right?

                He shook his head and got to his feet. “I’m gonna go get some air,” he said. “You don’t need to save my spot; I’ll just head home afterward, I think.” He gave a half-hearted wave as everyone said their goodbyes, then headed to the backyard.

                The party was, of course, in full swing back there, too, but being outside made it a little less claustrophobic. There wasn’t much room to think, but there was enough. He didn’t want this. He’d just wanted to go to one party and forget he was dead, not…wind up a celebrity’s play thing or friend or… _whatever._ He probably should apologize to Rodrigo, then swear off his parties for good. Even if he’d miss out on talking to Antonio Marquez or give up on his new work, he wouldn’t be a _novelty._ Sure, Ruy had seemed nice enough, but Bianca was right. He was a _celebrity;_ Sebastián was just some kid who died too early. It would be better if…

                He lifted his head, eyes widening as a strangely familiar smell hit him. Was that… _smoke?_

                That was smoke.

                All at once, he started coughing violently. He had to get to the door. He had to get _out._ Flames were crackling around him, there wasn’t enough time to move. His head swam as he coughed, panic rising in him as he shut his eyes and fell to his knees. He just had to get to the door, _why couldn’t he just move to the door?_ If he didn’t move, he’d, he’d…

                “ _Oye, Sebastián!_ ”

                Sebastián’s eyes flew open as he felt bony hands pat his face, gasping in a breath as he was face to face with a skull. His head was still swimming too much to focus on who it was, but he heard fingers snapping.

                “Mírame, chico, come on. You’re dead, remember? Can’t get hurt anymore. You’re okay.”

                Sebastián blinked a few more times, eyes focusing to see Rodrigo kneeling in front of him, looking concerned. He glanced around as he caught his breath, feeling something in him twist uncomfortably as he realized all eyes were on him.

                “I…I…”

                Rodrigo snapped again, getting Sebastián to look at him. In a very low voice, he asked, “You wanna head home, Seba?”

                Sebastián nodded silently, and Ruy gave his shoulder a squeeze.

                “I’ll get you out of here without anyone bothering you. Just give me a second.” His face went steely, and once he marched away Sebastián heard some sort of argument behind him. He couldn’t focus on that, though, not when he’d made a _spectacle_ out of himself in front of god knew how many people. He gripped his head and grimaced, but was forced to look up as he was helped to his feet.

                “ _There_ we go, come on.” Rodrigo patted his arm once he was on his feet, then guided him back inside and through the house. He shook his head, ignoring everyone looking at them. “Por dios, starting a fire in the backyard. Does this look like a bonfire friendly house? Caprice would’ve _flipped_ if she’d seen it.”

                Sebastián blinked, still too shaken from his episode to answer. And, once they were out of the house, Ruy—for the first time since Sebastián had met him—stayed quiet as they walked down the street. A small part of Sebastián was saying that _this_ was his chance to cut ties, but the rest of him told that part to shut up; the last thing he wanted right now was to be alone.

                Somewhere along the way, Sebastián had taken the lead and guided them both toward his apartment building. The casera in the lobby gaped as Rodrigo gave her a cheery wave, and Sebastián did his best to ignore it. Finally, though, Ruy spoke as they went up the stairs.

                “So…it was a fire that did you in, huh?”

                Sebastián paused on the steps, sucking in a breath before he nodded.

                “That _sucks._ ” At Sebastián’s derisive snort, Ruy added, “No, en serio, that’s a terrible way to die. I’m sorry that’s how you got here.”

                “Well, thanks, I guess,” Sebastián said flatly as they reached the door. He unlocked the door, then furrowed his browbone. _Ugh._ He couldn’t just say “good night,” could he? Not after Ruy’d pulled him out from…whatever that was. “You, uh, you wanna come inside? I mean, I know you’ve got the party to get back to and…”

He trailed off as Ruy walked in with a “Cool, thanks.” He shook his head and shut the door wearily as Ruy gave a low whistle.

                “I forgot what Freshie apartments look like. Kinda bleak, isn’t it?” he said, looking at the empty walls and sparse furniture. His eyes widened as he spotted the keyboard. “Is that yours? Can I?”

                Sebastián wearily waved his hand as he sank down to sit on the bed, and Rodrigo made his way to the keyboard with a grin.

                “Don’t worry too much about the apartment, though. Come Día de Muertos, you’ll be able to have it all decked out,” he hummed as he turned it on. He smiled as he tried an experimental chord, then looked up at Sebastián as he idly played some scales. “Oh! But if you’re impatient, I know some places you can get some neat stuff. The second-hand shop by my apartment is _great_ , and you can find…”  His playing abruptly stopped as Sebastián let out a frustrated noise.

                “Will you _stop?_ For just…for five minutes, will you _stop pretending that you care about me?_ ”

                Rodrigo froze at the piano, eyes wide and fingers held just above the keys. He blinked a few times, then had the _audacity_ to look _hurt._

                “Pretending?” he repeated in a soft voice. Sebastián grimaced and waved his hand.

                “I dunno, maybe this is the weird celebrity version of caring, but just…just _stop_ , okay? Stop treating me like I’m a special friend of yours or whatever. The only thing noteworthy about me is that I just died. So I dunno if this is some sort of charity thing or if you see me as a…a _novelty_ or whatever, but…just _stop_ , Ruy, okay?”

                Rodrigo blinked a few times, then looked down at the piano. He plunked out a little melody—almost dissonant, but not quite—before he let out a long sigh. “So who’d you end up talking to?”

                Sebastián’s browridge furrowed. “What?”

                “Who told you I target Freshies?”

                Sebastián swallowed. “Bianca.”

                “Ah, Bianca. _Bi-an-ca._ ” He accented each syllable with a different chord. “She’s a nice girl, you know? Absolute sweetheart. And that whole thing really was on me. If she’d ever talk to me again, I’d apologize.” He shook his head as he settled into an actual song—though whether it was from something or one Ruy made up off the top of his head, Sebastián had no idea. “And look, I’ll admit, I love seeing new faces. A lot of the people at my things have been coming for twenty, thirty, forty years. They’re great, but it’s nice meeting new people, you know?” He shrugged. “And I have a soft spot for newbies. It’s rough, showing up here. Especially if you’re young and alone.”

                “How did you…know I was alone?”

                Rodrigo nodded to the space around them. “Well, for one, you don’t stay in a place like this if you’ve got family waiting for you. Or, at least, family you wanna spend time with. And if you’d had family, they would’ve kept you from coming to one of my parties so soon after dying.”  

                Sebastián frowned. “So is that why you wanted to listen to that record with me? You felt _bad_ for me?”

                To his surprise, Rodrigo laughed. “No, that was because I was so drunk I could barely walk and wanted an excuse to lie down.” At Sebastián’s look, he added, “Cool off, Seba, tranquilo!” He played a few notes before he added, “Sometimes I just get… _vibes_ from people, you know? And you had a good one.”

                “But I…” A blare of dissonant notes cut Sebastián off.

                “If you say there’s nothing special about you one more time, I’m taking your keyboard and never giving it back.” When Sebastián stayed quiet, Ruy continued playing. “Look, even if you didn’t clearly love music like it’s a piece of your soul and didn’t have an ear for interesting melodies, I’d still like you. Sometimes you just _like_ people, you know? There’s no explanation needed.”

                Sebastián stared at him, then pulled off his hat with a sigh. “Why _freshies_ though? Bianca said you…picked her up and dropped her, just like that.”

                Ruy grimaced. “Bianca’s…a special case, and I don’t really wanna talk about that.” Before Sebastián could argue, he played a few bars of something impressively complicated and said, “Let me tell you a quick story. So you know how I died, right?”

                “You…plunged off a cliff?”

                “Nope. I crashed through a barrier on a bridge, broke my neck, and drowned when my car sank in the water.”

                “ _Mierda._ ”

                Rodrigo shrugged. “Don’t remember much of it, really. There _are_ some benefits to being blackout drunk, I guess. Anyway, about a year after I turn up here, I make my way down to Shantytown—back…when it was still Shantytown, before _Papi_ wound up sterilizing it and getting rid of every bit of personality it had.” At Sebastián’s confused look, he added, “Down by the water, where the Forgotten hang out. The people there, they were _great._ And their music is still some of the best I’ve ever heard. But so I’m down there, walking along the dock, and the piece of wood I’m standing on just gives out, right under me, and next thing I know I’m in the water.”

His hands stilled, and he was quiet for a moment. “It’s funny, you know? Even if you don’t remember what happened, your body doesn’t forget. The minute I hit the water, I was _paralyzed._ I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe…if a few buenos samaritanos hadn’t fished me out and gotten me back in my head, I don’t know what would have happened.” He shrugged as he started playing again. “Everyone freaks out when they first get here. I did, your friends did, _everyone._ It doesn’t matter how all right you wind up being with your death, you still started as a scared skeleton with some terrifying memories of your last moments. A lot of people pretend it doesn’t happen, but I don’t like that. So I try and help, just like the tíos and tías in Shantytown did.”

Sebastián stayed quiet, fiddling with his hat. He looked away, then took a breath as he looked up at Rodrigo. “Thanks for that, by the way,” he murmured. “For bringing me back.”

                Ruy laughed. “What’s a little rescuing between friends, right?” He looked down at the keyboard for a moment, then looked up. “Did I really make you feel like some kind of novelty?”

                Sebastián grimaced and shrugged. “I mean, I’m not ready to play in front of people yet. So that was a little… _novelty_ -ish, I guess.”

                Ruy pulled one hand away to rub the back of his head. “Perdóname, güey. I just assume everyone wants to perform, I guess.” He shook his head as he brought his hand back. “I really should know better. I spent my whole life as a novelty.”

                “En serio?”

                “Sure. _El niño prodigio_ , or _that wild Latin conductor_ , or _Héctor Rivera’s Out-of-Control Son_. If the papers weren’t calling me Rodrigo, they were calling me one of those.” He shrugged. “It kept all eyes on me, so I didn’t mind it at the time. It gets kind of old after fifty-five years of it, though. I like just being Ruy a lot better.”

                Sebastián looked down at his hat. Well, he couldn’t blame him for… _wait._ “Hang on, _Héctor Rivera?_ Like, _Tío Héctor?_ That one?”

                “Por supuesto,” Ruy drawled, hitting a sour note.

                “You’re his _son_?”

                Rodrigo’s irritation melted into genuine surprise. “You didn’t know?” When Sebastián shook his head, he laughed. “Dios Mio, you’re serious! You didn’t know!”

                “Rivera’s a common name!” he argued, which only made Ruy laugh harder.

                “ _Ay_ , I guess you’re right, but _come on._ Everyone knows that I’m the family disappointment!” Rodrigo giggled a bit as he resumed playing. Sebastián stared at him for a long moment.

                “I always hated his movies.”

                Ruy suddenly stopped playing. “Qué?”

                Sebastián shook his head as he pulled his hat back on. “My abuela would put them on whenever Mamá dropped me off at her place. They were _so_ boring.”

                Ruy stared at Sebastián for a long moment, long enough for him to wonder if he’d possibly offended him. Then, out of _nowhere,_ Ruy let out the biggest laugh Sebastián had heard from him, eyes starting to tear up as he bent double over the keyboard. A smile finally found its way to Sebastián’s face as well, and he was laughing—not as hard as Ruy, but still the hardest he had in a _very_ long time.

                They laughed for well over a minute, until both were breathless and wiping at their eyes. As they sighed, Sebastián looked up at Rodrigo with a furrowed browbone. Well, all signs pointed to Ruy being serious about being friends. Maybe…he really _should_ stop fighting so hard. It’d been a long time since someone wanted to be friends with him just because. He adjusted his baseball cap.

                “Uh, hey, Ruy, could you…show me how you did that improv earlier? With the, uh, with the…” He did his best to imitate the song, to which Ruy nodded as if he’d laid it out plainly.

                “Por supuesto. Venga, Seba, right over here.”

                “You’re cool staying away from the party a little longer?”

                “They have _explicit_ instructions to not burn the house down, and Preese’ll shut it down if it gets too crazy.” He gave Sebastián’s chest a good-natured whack, making the ribs rattle. “And if there’s no apartment when I get back, we’ll just room with you.”

                “No.”

                “Qué malo eres! And you call yourself my friend, _pah!_ ” Ry shook his head before nodding down to the keyboard. “Mira, Seba. It’s not as tricky as you’d think it’d be, but you gotta do it _just right._ ”

                Sebastián smiled and shook his head before watching Ruy carefully as he showed him what to do. Maybe this would end up shriveling up. Maybe there wasn’t anything more than surface level in their friendship.

                Still, he figured there were worse friends to have than Rodrigo Ri—than _Ruy._  
 


	6. Grace Note - Part 4

**2004**

                Sebastián huffed as he adjusted the empty boxes in his arms. Today was the day, he decided, that they were going to get rid of _all_ the bottles that kept piling up in Ruy’s apartment. He was pretty sure there were still some there from the first party he’d gone to, _over a year ago_. He’d brought it up for a while now, but Ruy had always waved him off with an easy smile and a ”Later, later, Seba.”

                Well, _enough._ Sebastián knew landlords well enough to know that even someone like _Rodrigo Rivera_ was susceptible to being kicked out, and none of his other friends would give him the kick he needed to clean up.

                He reached the teal-sided house, propping up his boxes against his hipbone as he reached for the doorknob. He shut his eyes and _hoped_ the knob would be stuck, then groaned as it turned easily.

“Ruy!” he called as he walked in. “You _need_ to lock your door!”

                Normally, he’d get a call of “What, is someone going to _murder_ me?” in reply, but nothing came. Sebastián frowned as he walked in and set the boxes down. Was Ruy out? Maybe he was taking Caprice out; she wasn’t settled in the main room like she normally was. He puffed as he looked around.

                “Ruy?” he called. “Oye, are you in here somewhere?”

                No answer. Sebastián puffed again, taking off his hat to push his hair back before he pulled it back on. The idiot probably didn’t have keys on him, and despite Ruy’s constant protests, he didn’t feel comfortable leaving the door unlocked. Well, he’d probably be back soon enough. And…well, there was a beautiful grand piano that Ruy _had_ said he could use anytime.

                He made his way over to it, cleaning off a few scattered thank you notes and loose pages of sheet music. As he was about to sit down, though, he heard a loud whinny from the backyard.

                “Caprice?”

                Another whinny, and, as Sebastián got closer to the sliding glass door, he heard a few mumbles through it. He quickly slid the door open, catching sight of Ruy stumbling his way to Caprice.

                “Shh, _shhhhhhhh_ , Preese. ‘Sgood. Ssssoy bue _no._ ”

                Caprice let out a concerned-sounding nicker, then whistled as she caught sight of Sebastián. Ruy leaned heavily against her, then gave a vacant smile as he turned.

                “Seeeeeba!” he sang, pushing himself away from Caprice and drifting over to him. “Seeebasebaseba, mi chico favo _rititi_ to!” He stumbled forward, dropping his glass to clutch at Sebastián, to keep from falling to the ground. “Whoops.”

                “ _Dios_ , you _reek_ of tequila,” Sebastián said, trying to pull him up. He looked around with a frown. “Has anyone been over? Were you—” He was stopped by Ruy clapping a hand over his mouth.

                “Shhh. Sh sh sh. Doesn’t…don’t _worry_ about that.” He looked up at him with unfocused eyes. “Whyyyy d’you worry so much anyway? You shouldn’ worry. None’a my friends should worry.” Ruy pulled himself up a bit, grinning at Sebastián. “Y’know what? I’m…I’m’na throw a _party_ tonight. A _big_ one. Then _you_ can stop _worrying._ ”

                Sebastián grimaced. This definitely wasn’t normal-drunk Ruy he was looking at. This was even worse than post-obligatory-family-party drunk. He hoisted him up to stand straight, then kept a hold on his shoulders as he swayed and almost fell over. “ _Rodrigo,_ I need…”

                “ _Dooooon’t_ call me _Rodriiiigo_. _She’s_ the only one who makes it sound nice,” he argued, waving vaguely past Sebastián’s shoulder before he frowned at him. “ _Yooou_ make it sound like I’m in _trouble._ ”

                Sebastián fought the urge to roll his eyes, instead snapping to get Ruy to look at him. “Fine. _Ruy._ Tell me what happened.”

                “Nothing happened.”

                “ _Mentira._ You’re a _wreck._ ”

                Ruy pushed himself away with a frustrated noise. “I’m _not!_ I’m _fffine!_ ” He backed away from Sebastián, skull lifted and eyes shut. “ _IIIIIII_ am _completely_ and _totally_ FI—”

                _Splash._

                Caprice whinnied frantically as Ruy fell back into the pool, and Sebastián lunged forward, looking over the edge with wide eyes. Maybe the dip would sober him up enough to…why wasn’t he resurfacing? All he could see was a dark, still shape in the water.

                For a half a second, Sebastián completely forgot they were dead, and he automatically plunged into the water after Ruy. Gripping his bony arms, of course, was enough of a reminder, but Ruy still wasn’t moving even while Seba pulled him back to the surface. He couldn’t…the final death didn’t work like that, right?

                “Ruy? _Ruy!_ ”

                Ruy finally let in a strangled gasp, eyes flying open and staring straight up. “I can’t…I can’t _move_ …” He rasped.

                “ _Yes,_ you can! Mirame, mirame, Ruy!” It was a little difficult while he was trying to keep them both above the water, but Sebastián managed to grab Ruy’s chin and pull his head down to look at him. “Look at me. We’re _dead._ You’re fine now, you can’t get hurt.”

                Ruy’s breathing was still ragged, his eyes still wide and terrified, and Sebastián pulled his hand away to snap at him.

                “ _Look at me._ You’re okay. You’re okay, Ruy.”

                Finally, Ruy’s eyes locked on Sebastián’s. He blinked a few times, then looked up as Caprice whinnied at them again. He swallowed hard, legs now kicking to keep himself afloat, then looked over at Sebastián miserably before he swam to the edge of the pool. Sebastián’s jaw tightened, and he grabbed his hat as it floated by before following him.

                This _definitely_ prompted a talk.

~

                _Clack._

                The sound rang out through the apartment as Sebastián nearly slammed the cup of coffee in front of Ruy. He set his hands on his hipbones as he watched Ruy stare down at the cup. The dip in the pool had sobered him up quite a bit, and now he looked… _wilted_ —shoulders hunched, eyes glassy, hair still dripping onto the papers on the table. Sebastián honestly wanted to just cheer him up, but…he got the feeling that wasn’t what he needed.

                “Drink that,” he said, voice a little harsher than he meant it to be. “I need you to be sober before we talk about this.”

                “Do we have to talk about it?” Ruy asked in a small voice, still staring at the coffee. Sebastián rubbed one of his temples with a sigh.

                “ _Yes._ We do. Because I have _never_ seen you that bad…”

                “You haven’t known me very long.”

                “And I _don’t_ want to see you that bad ever again.”

                Ruy’s gaze finally broke from the coffee cup, and he looked up at Sebastián with wide, surprised eyes. He swallowed hard, then picked up the cup and took a sip. He grimaced and screwed his eyes shut before he huffed a breath through his nasal cavity and mumbled something against the cup rim. Sebastián sat down across from him and leaned forward.

                “What was that?”

                Ruy kept his eyes closed, hands gripping the cup so hard they were shaking. He let out a long, slow breath.

                “My…ex visited last night.”

                Sebastián blinked, then rested his arms against the table. “Bianca?”

                “What?”

                Sebastián shrugged. “I dunno. I still see her sometimes and she’s…got that ex vibe whenever you get brought up.”

                Ruy puffed out a sound that was almost a laugh, shaking his head. “No, no. Bianca is a completely different story.” He tapped out a small tune against the mug. “Actually, yeah, let’s talk about Bianca.”

                “ _Ruy…_ ”

                A pained grimace crossed Ruy’s face, and he looked up at Sebastián with wide brown eyes. “ _Please,_ Sebastián. Just give me a minute.”

                _Sebastián._ He was pretty sure Ruy hadn’t called him by his full name since his freakout a year ago; it must be serious. He sat back with a sigh, arms crossed. “All right. Tell me about Bianca.”

 

                Ruy took a long sip of coffee. “I met her kinda the same way I met you. Got really drunk, think I played a few things for her—if I remember right, she was kinda shell-shocked about being dead, and I’m not gonna lie, I _really_ liked showing off for freshies back then. Got their minds off things, y’know?” Told her to visit whenever, and she did.” He rubbed his face. “And I was an idiot. I should’ve seen the signs. I spent so much time with her—even more than you and I did at first—because she was…” He shrugged. “She was sweet? She said everything I did was amazing? And it was just… _dios mio_ , it’s so nice to hear that, you know?”

                Sebastián frowned. “You said you hated people talking about you like that.”

                “I hate people talking about my _music_ like that. Telling me how amazing my garbage work is, telling me what a genius I am with my concertos, all that. But talking about _me_ like I was something amazing? I don’t get that very often.” He rubbed his eyes with a sigh. “And then she came in one day asking ‘What are we?’ And I just…I couldn’t answer her. So she left. And I did what I do best and tried to run from that. I talked to new people, threw myself into new music…did everything I could to avoid her.”

                “No wonder she thinks you target freshies,” Sebastián said before he could stop himself. He clamped his mouth shut, but Ruy shook his head.

                “No, you’re right.” He cradled his skull in his hand as he sighed. “And I still don’t know what I wanted. But no matter what, it would’ve ended badly.” He shut his eyes, pressing the heel of his palm against his brow ridge. “She’s not _her_.”

                “And… _her_ is the ex.”

                Ruy nodded. He opened his mouth, then shut his jaw with a sharp click as he grimaced again. “I can’t…” he whispered. “I can’t tell you about her. Not today.”

                Sebastián gave a soft sigh before leaning forward. “Tell me _something._ Tell me what got you to that state.”

                “I…”

                “What if she comes again, Ruy? What if I’m not there to fish you out of the pool?”

                “It won’t be like this if she comes again. I just…” Ruy swallowed hard, eyes glistening as he finally opened them. “She has a _kid_ , Seba. Probably has grandkids,” he said quietly, voice breaking. “Her hair’s gray now. She _lived._ And…and I should be happy about that, but…” He shrugged helplessly and started to turn to get up. Sebastián lunged across the table to grab his arm.

                “ _No._ You’re staying sober for the rest of the day,” he said firmly, then softened his voice as he asked, “Why aren’t you happy about it?”

                Ruy stared hard at the table, obviously trying hard not to blink. Eventually, he did, and two tears dripped to the table.

                “She did it all without me,” he whispered. “Because I wasn’t good enough.”

                Sebastián sucked in a breath.  O…kay. This was harder than the other breakups he’d walked friends through…which weren’t very many. What did he _do?_ “No, I’m sure you were fine,” sounded so fake, but anything else would sound like he was agreeing that Ruy wasn’t good enough. And…well, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he’d fallen apart…kind of like he was doing right now.

                But friends didn’t say that. Friends help make their friends be better. And he _wanted_ to do that, but…well, he didn’t have the answer for that _now._ So, instead, he got to his feet. Ruy looked up at him as he did, tears still pooled in the bottom of his sockets, then swallowed hard.

                “I’m right, ar—”

                “Hey, shut up.” Sebastián walked over to the piano, gathering up the papers on the keys and setting them aside as neatly as he could. “Maybe you are. I dunno. I didn’t know you back then. But I’m already tired of you being a sadsack about stuff you can’t change.” He sat down at the piano and glanced over his shoulder. “I’m sorry you had such a bad visit with her. Break-ups suck.”

                Ruy puffed out another almost-laugh, wiping at his eyes. “They do, don’t they?”

                “So we’re not gonna think about her anymore. Not for the rest of the day, at least.” He cracked his knuckles. “Escucha. This was supposed to be your birthday present.”

                “I’d need a birthday for th—”

                “Shut _up_ , Ruy, everyone knows it’s June 12th. _Escucha._ ” Before Ruy could get another word in, Seba started to play, smiling a bit as he heard Ruy’s gasp.

                “Is this…?”

                “Mm-hm.”

                “ _You’re covering Selena?_ ”

                “Yeah, and you better love it. It physically hurts me to play this.”

                It was like seeing a dead man come back to life…metaphorically. There was still an edge that said that Ruy wasn’t quite better, but…well, the most they could do right now was pretend. That was…kinda what friends did. And to be honest, that kind of friend was what Ruy needed, at least right now. No empty praises, no urging to be better. Just someone to spend some time with him and shake off a night he obviously wanted to forget.

                Maybe one day he’d be able to help Ruy get past the worst of…this. But there was all the time in the world to figure that out. For now…well, it took a pretty great friend to compose a Selena medley, didn’t it?

**~End~**


	7. Fermata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Fermata: A symbol that tells the performer to hold the note as long as s/he would like, but certainly longer than the written note value.”
> 
> Two snapshots of Ruy and Iria’s relationship while alive, one near the beginning, one at the very end.

 

**June 1947 - Four years before Ruy’s death  
**

Iria stared blearily at her bedroom wall, confused at why she had woken up in the middle of the night.

A breeze blew through the trees outside her window, the June night air rustling through the leaves. Her eyes were just drifting closed again when she heard something distinctly non-breeze-like outside her window, the quiet plucking of a ukulele.

She sat up, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table, dimly lit by the constant New York city glow seeping through the window blinds.

Why was he outside her window at three in the morning?

She had important meetings tomorrow. If she was smart she would stay in bed, she could ask him what he wanted in the morning. But...even if she was half asleep, she’d rather see him.

Iria stifled a massive yawn as she got out of bed and pulled on her bedrobe, the Maldonian crest stitched on one side. It took a minute to undo the several sophisticated locks on her balcony door, this was an official embassy building after all, but soon she was pushing open the sliding glass door and walking out onto her balcony.

She leaned on the railing, looking down for the soft sound of ukulele. There was no way she would have been able to hear it if her street wasn’t a quiet one, away from the hustle and bustle of the heart of the city.

There, two stories down and leaning into a rhododendron bush, was Rodrigo Rivera. He seemed to be staring at nothing, plucking idly at his instrument, the dappled street lamp light filtering down through the oak trees around him.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Iria called softly.

There was a muffled twang as Ruy jumped, looking up in surprise, and then embarrassment.

“Lo siento, Estrella. I didn’t mean to wake you!” he stage-whispered, scrambling to his feet and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You’re playing music outside my window in the middle of the night, what did you think was going to happen?” Iria whispered back. “You’re lucky it was _me_  that woke up.”

“I was playing quietly.” Ruy said, holding up his ukelele as if to show her. “I apologize, I needed to think and my place is too empty. Please, go back to sleep, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Well you’ve already gone and bothered me,” Iria said, resting her chin on her folded arms, looking down at him with a smile. “do you have any other bothering in mind?”

Ruy grinned up at her, blowing a kiss in her direction. “Well...if you want to come with me, there is a place I would love to take you.”

“I’ll meet you at the entrance in five minutes.”

***

“Ruy, when you said “a place” I thought you meant going to a park, not breaking into  _Carnegie Hall_!” Iria hissed.

“Shhh, it is not breaking in, we are just, visiting after hours.” Ruy said, a truly mischievous grin on his face as he pushed open a back door and pulled her into the shadows inside, confidently leading her deeper into the darkness. “It’s fine, I am conducting here later this week, they love me.”

“Oh? And do the security guards love you too?” Iria whispered, keeping close to him out of fear of running into something as he led her along, her heart racing in excitement. The wiser part of her knew she should pull him back...but where was the fun in that?

“I am  _Rodrigo Rivera_ , they have to love me.” Ruy said, she could hear the grin in his voice.

They turned into a dimly lit hallway with the whitewashed walls and linoleum flooring of a backstage area.

“Welcome to Carnegie Hall.” Ruy said, pulling her close and gesturing grandly at the utilitarian space with the ukulele in his other hand. “This is what musical success looks like, this is what the greatest musicians in the world get to see when they have made it to the top.”

“I’m incredibly impressed.” Iria chuckled, she smoothed a hand up his chest, “But if you were looking for someplace romantic I could have made a few other suggestions.”

“Ah ah, but you do not  _sound_  impressed.” Ruy teased, running an arm around her waist. “You are too good for backstage.”

“Backstage is fine, I just- Ruy, stop it!” She laughed as he nuzzled her neck, only half-heartedly trying to push him away.

“You are right,” he said, kissing her cheek before taking her hand again and pulling her down the hallway, “you are too beautiful for backstage.”

“Where are we going now?” Iria asked as he led them through several doors and into a carpeted hallway with much nicer decor, “We have to be quiet Ruy, we don’t-”

She gasped as he pushed open a heavier door, leading her into the huge expanse that was Carnegie Hall proper, the massive and ornate auditorium.

She’d been there to attend performances before, a few of them with or for Ruy, but seeing the enormous room completely empty, instead of crammed with patrons, was completely different. The balcony lights were all switched off and only half of the stage lights were lit, casting the room in deep shadows, the stage an island of warm cream light.

“We aren’t supposed to be here.” Iria whispered, feeling like she didn't have the right to make noise in such a silent and grand room. It felt almost like a library, but...for sound, instead of books.

“This is exactly where we’re supposed to be.” Ruy said, not lowering his voice at all. Sounding exactly like he belonged, or maybe like the hall belonged to him.

No. Sounding like  _he_  belonged to the  _hall_.

Ruy led her up and onto the stage, setting his ukelele on the polished wooden floor and pulling her to the very center, putting them both into the middle of the light.

“Here we are.” he said softly, putting his hands on her hips. “No backstage for you, front and center, for everyone to see you.”

“You’re the only one here.” Iria said, reaching up and running her fingers through his hair.

“I hope that is alright.”

“It’s perfect.”

She leaned in and kissed him slowly, savoring the feel of his lips against hers, letting him deepen the kiss as he pulled her closer, gently tracing her fingertips along the line of his jaw. Ruy gently ran his hand up her sides, his mouth smiling against hers.

Iria gently pulled back from the kiss, looking into his starry eyes as she brushed back his shaggy bangs.

“Happy Birthday Ruy.” she said.

His eyes widened, his smile faltering. “How...did you know?”

“You’re an international musical celebrity Ruy,” Iria said, taking his hands, “it’s on the public record, even if you try to cover it up.”

“I just...don’t like everyone making a big deal out of it.” Ruy said, looking away.

“It reminds you of your family, doesn’t it?” Iria said softly.

“A bit.” Ruy said with a sigh, leaning against her, putting one hand on her waist and taking her hand in the other as he began to sway them back and forth. A simple, intimate waltz.

“That’s why you couldn’t sleep.” Iria said, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

“There are too many thoughts I have no place for,” Ruy said softly, “not when I can think about you instead.”

“Well I’m flattered you thought of me before alcohol.” Iria teased gently.

“Oh, Irititia,” Ruy said, pulling back to look at her face, “you are muy better than tequila. You cost less, there is no hangover, you make better conversation,” he leaned in with a smile, “your lips even have a better taste.”

Iria swatted his shoulder with a sound of mock indignation, but quickly dissolved into laughter, unable to stop laughing even as he kissed her again.

“Well, I’m glad I know where we stand.” Iria said, although she did feel genuinely pleased, she knew what a struggle he had with drink and even a joke like that didn’t come lightly from him, “I have a present for you.”

“You are the only present I need, you didn’t have to get me anything.” Ruy said, but he already looked curious.

“You know how you’re always begging me to sing?” Iria asked, smiling as his eyes already lit up. “I’m giving you a song for your birthday.”

“Rita, en serio?” he said, taking her hands, his voice ecstatic, “What song? What are you going to sing? And you have a stage too! I knew bringing you here was perfecto!”

“I’ll play too if I can borrow your ukulele.” Iria said.

Ruy nearly dove across the stage in his haste to retrieve the ukelele for her. He rushed back to her, handing it to her with a kiss on the forehead before excitedly jumping down off the stage, going to the front row of audience seating and perching himself on the back of one of the red velvet benches.

Iria smiled to herself as she kicked off her shoes and tested the strings on the instrument. She still didn’t know everything about Ruy, why he drank, why he didn’t sleep, why he held her like she was his last lifeline on earth, but it was alright.

She was patient and he was honest, and there would be plenty of time to talk things over when he walked her back home.

***

**New York - October 1950 - Nine months before Ruy’s death**

“Ruy, we can’t do this anymore.”

Ruy sat on the edge of the hospital bed, picking at the tape holding the IV in his arm instead of looking at Iria.

“You shouldn’t have to.” he said softly, trying to ignore the way his hands were still twitching involuntarily. “I’m sorry.”

“Ruy, look at me.”

He looked up. Iria would always be beautiful, but he couldn’t ignore the way her hair was haphazardly pulled back in a messy all-nighter ponytail, how she was still dressed in her now hopelessly wrinkled embassy clothes, her tired eyes, her permanently worried expression.

He wanted to take her in her arms, to kiss her worry away...but he had no right to even think about that when he was the cause of all of it.

“I was only gone for a week Ruy,” Iria said, “you were unconscious on the bathroom floor with so much junk everywhere that I didn’t know what to tell the paramedics you were high on.”  

“Probably cocaine I think.” Ruy said, wanting to look away, but not daring to.

“Where did you even-” Iria’s hiss trailed off into a sigh as she rubbed her eyes in exhaustion.

“Someone kept bringing some to the parties this week.” Ruy said, trying to remember anything from the hazy last few days, but it was a struggle. “I must have gone too far last night.”

“Not last night Ruy, no one’s heard from you in two days.”

Two days.

He’d been nervous when Iria announced she would be traveling for a week, but had done his best to put on a brave face for her. After all, they were both adults, he should be able to handle himself alone for a whole week.

But after only a couple days without her to calm him, to distract him, to help him stay grounded, his own thoughts had gotten too loud. Too loud to sleep or eat or even hear the music in his head anymore. And so even though he’d promised not to, he’d thrown a party Wednesday night, and another on Thursday, the loud noise and sea of faces and waves of alcohol distracting him from the dark thoughts crowding in on him from every side with no one around to anchor him.

He’d thought he’d thrown a party on Friday too, but if no one had heard from him in two days...

He hadn’t slipped up so badly in so long, not since he and Iria had gotten together, he hadn’t done the really hard stuff in ages, she’d always been more than enough excitement for him.

“I think we need to take a break Ruy.” Iria said, snapping his attention back to her.

“You mean for the weekend?” Ruy asked.

“I mean for a long time.” Iria said, biting her lip, her arms tightly folded. “I think, I think you rely on me too much, I think maybe you need some space.”

No.  _No._

Ruy gripped the edges of the hospital bed, fighting the overwhelming sense of vertigo gripping him.

“I know you can be better, I’ve  _seen_  you be better,” Iria said, her voice turning to a plea, “but maybe I’m holding you back. I can’t see you tearing yourself apart like this Ruy, I  _need_  you to pull yourself together, for both of us. Until then I think maybe I need to take a step back.”

_But you’re what keeps me together._

_I only want to tear myself apart when you’re gone._

_When I’m with you I feel sane, I feel important, I feel worth something._

_Please don’t leave._

But he couldn’t say any of the panicked things we wanted to.

She had never asked for this, to deal with a grown man who couldn’t even hold himself together for a week. She didn’t deserve to be with someone who couldn’t even stand to look in the mirror. He had known all along that he didn’t deserve her, that every moment they had together was stolen time.

He’d known all along that he would mess everything up somehow. And he’d finally done it.

He had no right to try and keep Iria when he already knew he didn’t deserve her, he couldn’t say a single word that might make her feel like he was trapping her. Even though every bit of him was aching to get on his knees and plead with her to stay. Even if he already knew that her leaving would be the end of everything.

Even if he knew her leaving would be the end of him.

“I can’t keep you here.” Ruy said, closing his eyes tightly against the tears that rolled down his face, too physically exhausted to even try keeping them back any more. “If you need to leave, then go, I am sorry.”

He felt her sit down on the bed next to him, pulling him close, cradling his head against her as he held her tightly.

“I don’t  _want_ to go,” Iria said quietly, “but if that’s what needs to happen then I’ll do it. You need to be better Ruy, I know you can be. This break will...it’ll be good for both of us. You can get cleaned up, I can focus on my work. When things have gotten better we’ll see each other again.”

Ruy said nothing, biting back the words in his head as he tried to memorize what she felt like.

Because he knew this was the end and his heart was breaking. He wasn’t going to get better, not without her, she was the only thing that had ever made him feel like he was home and now he was losing her. She would go on with her own life and be successful and amazing and beautiful, and she would meet someone much better than him. Someone who actually deserved her, because she deserved it.

“Alright.” he said, forcing the most painful half-smile of his life as he broke their hug, feeling like he’d just snapped off a piece of his soul. “We will take a break.”

“Are you sure?” Iria said, gently taking his face in her hands.

That alone was nearly enough to break him, nearly enough to get him to tell the truth, that this was going to kill him, that he needed her more than anything else in his life, that he was weak, that he couldn’t imagine any kind of future for himself that didn’t have her in it.

But she deserved  _better_.

“Si, you’re always right Rita.” he said, “If you say you need space then space is what we must have.”

“Alright.” Iria said, tears coming to her eyes. “If that’s what you need.”

It  _wasn’t._

“Thank you for bringing me here.” Ruy said, pulling his hands away, picking at the IV tape again. “I’ll call someone to take me home.”

“I can still take you home.” Iria said.

“No, I need to not rely on you, si? I will be alright.” Ruy said, his false smile stronger now. He had to put on a show for her, if she drove him home he would break.

“I...alright.” Iria said, standing, looking lost. “I guess...I’ll see you later then?”

“It will be a happy reunion, we will both be better for it.” Ruy lied, pulling himself up onto the bed. “I am sorry, but I am very tired. Thank you again Iria, travel safely.”

She looked like she wanted to say something more as she hovered in the doorway. He wanted her to say something, anything, so he could hear her voice one last time.

But instead she bit her lip, the way she always did when she was trying not to cry.

And then she was gone.

Ruy stared at the closed door as the IV dripped into him, as his damaged body ached, as his broken heart bled.

She deserved better than him.

He slowly laid on his side, staring at the blank hospital wall as everything fell apart for good.

She deserved better than him.


	8. Harmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things weren't always so bad.

                Héctor trudged into the house with a long sigh. He always forgot how much filming took out of him—all that repeating, all that emoting. It wasn’t _at all_ like doing his concerts (despite what his agent had said the first time), and honestly, he didn’t like it all that much. But…well, Leti had _just_ gone into remission, and there were bills that needed to be paid.

                He considered heading straight to bed—Imelda would understand if he skipped his customary hello—but…well. There were letters to sign and contracts to go over, and there was still enough time to get them ready to go by tomorrow. _Plus_ he’d be able to use more of his days off to spend with his family. So he took a deep breath by the door and quietly made his way to his study.

                He got about ten minutes of reading in when he heard a commotion in the hallway. Automatically, he was up on his feet and heading to the door. It sounded like footsteps were thudding down the hallway at a full sprint. No one could have gotten in, so it could only be…

                “ _Papá!_ ”

                The door flew open, and all at once a small blur of a boy threw himself right at Héctor, laughing as he just barely managed to be caught. Héctor looked down and let out a quiet little laugh as he was met by bright brown eyes and a huge, gappy-toothed smile.

                “Hola, Ruy,” he said, kissing the top of his son’s head before he set him down. He looked up as he heard the frantic click of heels coming down the hall.

                “ _Rodrigo_ , what did I say?” Imelda called as she reached the door. Rodrigo automatically leaned back against his father as his mother gave an exasperated sigh. “Lo siento, cariño, I know you must be exhausted. I tried to stop him, but…”

                Héctor laughed, ruffling Rodrigo’s hair. “But our little músico can’t be stopped.” He arched an eyebrow at his son. “Even when he’s _supposed_ to be in bed.”

                Rodrigo blinked, then gave a slow, entreating smile. “Lo siento, Papá. But you were gone for so long, and I _couldn’t_ wait!” He held up a paper, eyes wide and sparkling. “But I wanted to show you _this!_ ”

                Héctor’s eyebrows rose as he took the paper, and a smile spread across his face as he recognized the little circles drawn in wobbly lines. “Is this a song, Ruy?”

                “ _Sí!_ And I wrote it _myself!_ ” Rodrigo grabbed at Héctor’s hand and started pulling him toward the door. “And _you_ need to play it, Papá!”

                “He can play it in the morning, Rodrigo,” Imelda said firmly. “ _You_ need to get into bed, and Papá needs to rest after such a long time away.”

                Héctor glanced up at Imelda, then down at Ruy. The boy was all of eight years old, but given the way his eyes hardened and his jaw set, he’d already _fully_ inherited both sets of stubbornness—and they already knew he could throw _quite_ a fuss if he didn’t get his way. He set his hand on Ruy’s head, ruffling his hair slightly.

                “Tell you what. I’ll play through your song, and then you head straight to bed. How does that sound?”

                Imelda gave him a disapproving frown—she _hated_ when he gave in to any of their children’s wheedling—but the moment Ruy’s face lit up, it was well worth the talk they’d have later about ‘ _set rules_ ’ and ‘ _undermining’_.

                “Vete, Papá! Vete vete vete!” Héctor had just enough time to send a sheepish smile Imelda’s way before Ruy tugged him down the hallway to the sitting room, straight to the piano in the corner. Héctor couldn’t help his amused smile as Rodrigo danced around impatiently for him to pull out the seat and unlock the fallboard (a relatively new addition; they’d left it uncovered until Ruy started taking lessons and suddenly wouldn’t stop playing day and night). Once he was seated at the keys, Rodrigo pulled himself up to sit beside his father, setting the paper on the music shelf and looking up at Héctor excitedly. Héctor smiled.

                “You sure you don’t want to show me how it’s played?”

                Rodrigo shook his head sharply. “ _I_ know how it’s supposed to sound. I wanna see if you can make it sound the way I hear it in my head.”

                Héctor chuckled. “Well, I can’t argue with that.” He cracked his knuckles. “All right, chamaco, let’s see if I can play this right.”

                He squinted at the wobbly notes on the page, then did his best to play a few. However, Ruy quickly pat his arm.

                “No, _no_ , Papá! You’re playing it too slow!”

                “I am?”

                Ruy nodded. “It’s supposed to be _fast._ And…and _fun!_ ”

Héctor smiled, then pointed to the top corner of the page. “But then why did you write ‘rubato’ here?”

                Rodrigo’s brows furrowed as he looked at the page. “Because that’s what you write on music. That’s what _you_ wrote on ‘Remember Me.’”

                Héctor blinked, heart melting slightly as he realized Rodrigo had been looking at _his_ music to learn how to write. He swallowed down the sudden wave of emotion, then ruffled Rodrigo’s hair. “I did. Because ‘Remember Me’ is a lullaby, so it needs to be played slowly.” He pulled his hands away to play the first few notes of “Remember Me,” then looked up at Ruy. “But I wouldn’t play something like ‘Poco Loco’ in rubato.” He demonstrated, holding the notes out longer than necessary and grinning when Ruy laughed, then played it the way it was meant to sound. “This song, I play in _allegro._ That means it’s fast and happy.”

                Rodrigo perked up. “That’s what I want!”

                “So then, if you want _other_ people to know how to play it, you put down the _tempo_ you want in the corner here. So for this song, you’d write ‘allegro’ instead of ‘rubato’. Claro?”

                Rodrigo nodded, looking seriously at his music.

                “We can go over tempo more tomorrow. For now, you wanted me to play this for you, sí?”

                “Sí! In allegro!”

                Héctor grinned. “Allá vamos, chamaco. Let’s see if I’ve got it right this time.” This time, Ruy didn’t stop him as he played; every now and again, Héctor glanced over at his son, surprised at how focused he was as he listened. Once he held out the last note, though, Rodrigo was _all_ smiles.

                “It’s _perfect,_ Papá! That’s _exactly_ what I heard in my head!” He grabbed the paper with a grin. “Now we just need to come up with a name for it. I have a few I was thinking of so…”

                “ _Ah_ ah ah. Not so fast, mijo.” Rodrigo looked up at his papá with big eyes, but Héctor remained firm. “It’s time for bed.” Ruy started to groan, but one eyebrow raise from Héctor was enough to quiet him.

                “ _Fine._ ” His attitude was instantly broken when he looked up at Héctor. “Can you tuck me in, Papá?”

                “Por _supuesto._ ”

                Once Héctor shut the fallboard, he guided Rodrigo up the stairs and to his room. He glanced around, taking note of the several other papers that looked like the one Ruy clutched to his chest. So this wasn’t just a one-off. _Huh._ He and Imelda had joked that Ruy would be a musical prodigy, but…well, maybe that was more likely than they’d thought.

                But that didn’t matter just yet. For now, Ruy was just a little boy waiting to get a good night from his father. Héctor took the paper from him and gently set it on the table.

                “So you’ll really help me with the name?” he asked quietly.

                “Yes. We’ll give it the _best_ name.”

                “And you don’t have to leave again?”

                Héctor blinked, then gave a small smile as he knelt by Ruy’s bed. “No, mijo. Filming’s over for now.”

                “And no concerts?”

                “Not for a little while, no.”

                “ _Good._ ” Rodrigo sat up to give his papá a tight hug, then settled down against his pillow. Héctor tucked his blankets in around him, then gave his forehead a kiss before he got up to shut off Ruy’s lamp.

                “Papá?”

                “Hm?”

                “When I’m older, can you play one of _my_ songs in your concerts?”

                Héctor blinked, once again trying to keep himself in check despite being _incredibly_ touched, and he gave Ruy a big smile.

                “Mijo, there is _nothing_ I’d like to play more than your music.” He grinned. “And one day, everyone in México will want to hear _Maestro Rodrigo Rivera’s_ latest piece. And it’ll be the greatest honor to be the one to play it.”

                   


	9. Too Soon, Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I feel marooned in this body  
> Deserted my organs can go on without me  
> You can’t fly these wings  
> You can’t sleep in this box with me" 
> 
> -Trade Mistakes
> 
> [Art by Wit, writing by Slush/Frisbee]

 

               It wasn’t meant to end like this.

               Iria wasn’t one to deny facts. She’d seen the headlines, she’d called the apartment, and here she was, bird of paradise flowers in her arms, staring at the gray marble stone with “Rodrigo Arturo Rivera” etched in it. There was no way to argue it. Ruy was dead.

               Everything about this was  _wrong._ He didn’t want this. He’d wanted to have his ashes scattered in Central Park, so he could always be part of the city he loved so dearly, that he considered  _home_. Not trapped in the dirt of the place he ran from. But even more than that, he wouldn’t want to be  _dead._

               And Iria didn’t want him to be dead either.

               She bit her lip and shut her eyes tightly. If she’d just called a little sooner, if she’d just let him know she would come back, if she’d just  _stayed_ with him _…_

               She kept her eyes closed as she stepped forward, shoes sinking slightly into the rain-softened earth. Maybe she could sink down with him. Then, at least, he wouldn’t be alone. There was nothing he hated more than being alone.

               Her vision blurred as she opened her eyes and stared at the tombstone. The candles on either side did nothing to soften the stark gray of it, the flowers did nothing to lighten the grim reality of it. And yet, somehow, it was the pictures at the base of the stone that were the absolute  _worst._ Most were publicity shots—one, she recognized, was from his first time on a magazine cover; he had a copy stuck in a dartboard at the apartment.—and what looked like a few family photos. In each, even in the family photo where Ruy couldn’t be more than five, he stood out—vibrant and demanding the camera’s full attention. So how could someone so full of life be  _gone?_

               She felt something bubble up from deep in her chest. She’d wanted to keep from crying—he’d always hated seeing her cry, especially for him—but…well, it wasn’t like he was here to stop her. Her eyes grew wet, and she gritted her teeth. She let the feeling free, allowing herself to let out a sob—but, much to her surprised, it was one of anger and frustration rather than grief.

               “You weren’t supposed to  _die_.” Her words wavered with tears, but they still felt sharp on her tongue. “You were supposed to be there when I came back, I was  _always_ going to come back. Why didn’t you  _believe me?_ ” Another sob escaped her as she shut her eyes, and— disregarding her dress, her position, the eyes that could be watching her—she let herself fall to her knees, sinking still more into the soft dirt as she hugged the birds of paradise to her chest. “I don’t want  _this_ , Ruy. I want to be with  _you._ ”

                _Ay, Estrella. You know you can’t go where I’m going._

               Iria sucked in a breath. The words came so clearly, so perfectly that she half-believed she would see Ruy standing in front of her if she opened her eyes. As a result, she kept her eyes shut tight; losing Ruy once was devastating, losing him twice would be beyond unbearable.  Her shoulders shook, and she could practically hear his sigh.

                _Rita. Irititita. You know how much I hate seeing you cry._

“Then why did you  _leave_?” she hissed. She knew her voice was soft, but in the quiet of the graveyard, she felt as if she was shouting at him.  _God_ , she could just  _see_ the way he would awkwardly shift his weight to one leg and rub the back of his head.

                _We both knew I was living on borrowed time._

               “Then borrow more time.  _Come back._ ”

               A light laugh rang through her ears, tinged with the irony he always hid behind.  _If anyone could make me come back, Rita, it’s you. But not this time. So let me go._

               The words were so stark that Iria’s eyes almost opened. But… _no._  She  _had_ to hold on to him, even if he told her not to, even if  _he_ was just her brain playing tricks on her to deal with the grief. She hugged her flowers tighter; they were a weak substitute for pulling him into her arms, but it would have to do for now.

                _Hey, hey…mirame._  She shook her head sharply.  _Okay, then, I won’t make you. But_ listen.  _You did the best you could._

She let out a choked sound in reply. “Don’t say it like that. It sounds like I…”

                _Like you thought you could save me._

               She just barely held back another sob. She’d always told herself she wasn’t trying to save Ruy. That only fools thought they could change people. That she loved Ruy just as he was. And each time she said that, she’d been  _lying through her teeth._ She loved Ruy,  _yes._ She didn’t want him to lose that joie de vivre that flooded through him. She just…

                _You wanted me to be better than I was. And I never got there._

               Ruy’s voice—however soft, however imagined—cut through her thoughts, and she sniffed hard, and a new wave of tears hit her as his voice grew thick when he added,  _I’m sorry, Estrella. I_ tried.

               “I know you did. And you  _could_ have gotten there, I  _know_ that you  _could have._ Just…” She swallowed hard. “Why did you have to leave so  _soon_?”

               The voice went silent, and that’s how Iria knew it couldn’t be real. Ruy had always had an answer, even if it was a nonsense one. This one was with her, left floundering with the ultimate unanswered question.

               She’d have to open her eyes soon. She’d have to return to the candles and photos and stark gray slab in front of her. Just…just another minute. Just to say goodbye.

                _You know, when I was with you, I was the best I’d ever been. And that’s more than anyone else could have ever given me. So_ thank you  _for that, Iria. I’d love you forever for that alone._

               A small gust of wind carried through the cemetery, and Iria  _swore_ she could smell traces of incense and wool, of  _him,_ as if he were leaning forward to murmur something he only wanted her to hear. Another choked sob escaped her, leaving her shoulders shaking. If she focused hard enough, she could nearly feel calloused fingers brush her cheek.

                _You can’t come where I’m going, Estrella. And I wouldn’t want you to follow me, anyway. I want you_ here. Alive.  _I want you to hear symphonies and paint masterpieces and enjoy a beautiful day in Central Park. So let me go, Iria. Por favor, mi vida, mi amor, mi alma._ Please. _Let me just_ once  _be the man you thought I could be, and let me leave so you can_ live your life.

               Another sob bubbled out of Iria’s lips, and initially she shook her head. She couldn’t let him go. She’d never be able to let go someone like him, someone who had lit up her life so thoroughly she felt left in the dark without him. But…she couldn’t live like that. Even if this voice was just in her head, Ruy always believed in  _living._ He’d hate if she gave that up because of him. So, hesitantly, she gave a shaky nod as she wiped at her eyes.

               This time, the almost-voice didn’t speak. But, as her eyelashes fluttered with the last hopes that she’d see him when her eyes opened, she swore…no, she  _did_ feel a soft, ghostly kiss on her forehead. One last goodbye. Not the one she wanted, no, but it was what she needed.

               Finally, she opened her eyes.

               The stone was still there. So were the candles and the flowers and the photos. Ruy was still dead. But…he was freed now, and…so was she.

               She took a deep breath, then gently set the slightly crushed flowers at the base of the stone. She bit her lip for a moment, then leaned forward to give the cold marble a light kiss. It was a poor substitute for him, but she had to give her goodbye to him the only way she could.

               She took another shaking breath and wiped her eyes, then pushed herself up to her feet. She did her best to brush off the dirt before she turned and began walking away. Before she reached the gate, she paused.  _Don’t look back_ , she told herself. And yet, she glanced over her shoulder. Just in case, just to see if he…

               But no. Nothing was there but a stone bearing his name. He was well and truly gone now that she’d let him go. And that was…good.

               His life was over, but hers wasn’t. And she  _had_ to keep living it—even if it hurt, even if she missed him more than anything. For her sake, and for his, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This collab is part of the finale wrap up for villain au as a whole, there's going to be one more Ruia chapter before the main finale chapter is posted.


	10. Star-Crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruy finally manages to convince himself to visit Iria on her side of the afterlife.

(Four years after Iria’s death.) 

 

**Star-Crossed:** _adjective,_ _literary_

  1. (of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck.



 

“There’s so many...plants.”

“You’ve got your nose back on your face and all you care about is grass?” Ruy teased, elbowing Seba in the ribs.

Or rather, he elbowed him in the side, his friend’s bones securely hidden under flesh and skin like any living person would be.

The street they walked down was a wide and quiet one, the sun above as pleasant as an eternal warm spring day. On either side of them lush green lawns dotted with exotic flowers swept across wide expanses leading to ornate homes, looked over by impossibly large and stately trees of all kinds that quietly shaded the streets in pleasant silence.

“I’ve only been in this area once Ruy,” Seba said, his eye-rolling expression disorienting with eyebrows, “the  _last_  time we were going to visit Iria and you chickened out. I got over having a nose last time, this time I’m focusing on plants.”

Ruy chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the way they were shaking slightly. Small talk was good, it was distracting. And Seba was right, after decades in the Land of the Dead, where the only plant you ever saw was marigold petals, this side of the afterlife was jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

Not that anyone around here could  _actually_  go dropping their jaw bone. What with looking alive and all.

“Well hello there neighbors, y’all looking for someone?” said a voice to their left.

Ruy and Seba looked over to see a blonde young man, a little older than them, working in a flower bed near the side of the road, a set of tools by his side. Rich black soil was up to his elbows and a happily panting golden retriever was sprawled in the grass beside him.

“Si, we’re looking for Iria Adaruinu?” Ruy said, walking over and crouching down to pet the dog, who happily rolled over so he could scratch its belly. The fur felt so indescribably soft when you had skin to feel it with.

“Sure thing, she lives right over there,” the man said, pointing down the road a bit with his trowel. “I’ll tell you boys what, I lived all the way to my eighties and never met a sweeter lady than Miss Iria. Y’all friends of hers?”

“You lived to your-“ Seba started, looking at the young man in confusion.

“Muchas gracias, si, we are.” Ruy said, talking over him, “And she certainly is the most lovely woman who ever lived. We had directions but everything starts looking the same after a while with all this grass.”

“Ahhh, you boys are from another side then!” The man chuckled, nodding and he brushed his hands off on his shirt, which somehow didn’t seem to stain it. “You know, I thought you might be, what with the way your friend keeps touching his ears. Welcome, I hope you enjoy your stay, however long you're here.”

“Gracias, you are very kind.” Ruy said, giving the dog a last pat before standing again and continuing on down the road with Seba, leaving the man and his dog to their gardening.

“I keep forgetting people look in their prime over here.” Seba said once they were out of earshot, “Why don’t people just look their death age, like normal?”

“Who knows.” Ruy said with a shrug. “That’s what they think they’ll get, so it’s what they get. We expect bones so we get bones, they think we’re even crazier.”

“But we’re all  _dead,_ ” Seba reasoned as they turned down the long path leading to Iria’s home, “and that guy’s out gardening like he’s back home in, I don’t know, Germany?”

“I’d have guessed Florida actually,” Ruy laughed, good-naturedly shoving Seba’s shoulder instead of focusing on the fact that they were now only yards away from Iria’s front door, “How long has it been since you’ve seen blonde hair, guey?”

“Too long, I guess.” Seba said.

Ruy held his smile in place, but any other ideas for conversation drained out of him as they got closer and closer to the front door.

“Hey, you know what?” Ruy said, slowing his pace. “I was just thinking-”

“If you’re about to suggest we turn back,” Seba said, rounding on him with an intensely unamused expression, “then absolutely not. You have to talk to your dead girlfriend  _sometime,_ today is as good a time as any.”

“I just, I don’t know, maybe she’s busy,” Ruy said, his voice caught somewhere between sheepish and distressed as he tugged on his braid, staring at the house. “You know what, yeah, I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go visit some of my New York buddies instead. We don’t have to waste the trip.”

“Ruy, you said you were bringing me as emotional support, this is me emotionally supporting you.” Seba said, folding his arms.

“And you’re doing great!” Ruy said, turning on his heel, “And now I want you to emotionally support me back to- _ow stopit!_ ”

Ruy cried out as Seba grabbed his ear, mercilessly towing him down the path, the pain almost laughably novel.

“Nope. You expressly told me not to let you back down.” Seba said, his grip not budging an inch as he pulled Ruy along the path and up the stairs to the porch. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Then  _stop_  doing your job,  _ow_ , Seba, come on!”

Seba let go, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows expectantly as they both stood in front of the looming front door.

Ruy looked up at it, his nervous swallow for once not merely an unconscious habit now that he had a throat. His brain was running through calculations of just how fast he would have to run to keep Seba from catching him and towing him right back.

Because he knew she was going to be different.

Iria’s first surprise visit years ago had been bittersweet, as had the few visits she’d made since then. It was surprisingly easy to make small talk when they were both so obviously dead, both a set of bones with painted faces, and her grey hair just another clear visual reminder of the huge divide between them. Things were so out of context from their old lives that they could safely reminisce for a bit and then go their separate way, memories of the ways things used to be still intact.

Ruy patted his hair down again, trying to breathe through the cough in his throat as his thoughts got louder and louder.

Because on this side it wasn’t going to be so easy. She wouldn’t  _look_  dead, but she wouldn’t look the way he remembered her either. She’d lived a whole life without him, and her prime, when she was the most satisfied, would likely have been in her thirties, or even her fifties. Everything he held onto about her would be swept away by seeing the “new” Iria, the Iria that had moved on, had gotten married, who’d had a daughter.

Who’d left him behind. Because he hadn’t kept up.

And he had to move on now, that was why he’d come, to finally pack away all the treasured memories he had of her, all the unused plans and dreams that haunted him. Seeing her looking older, not just as a skeleton, would help him copy over his old memories of when they were both young.

Because none of the memories he treasured of her could possibly apply anymore, he’d ruined their chances by dying. He couldn’t keep wishing to have her, that she would have him. He couldn’t keep deluding himself into thinking things could have been different.

“Are you going to knock or...?” Seba asked, sighing.

“I’ll do it.” Ruy said, staring hard at the wood.

He took a step forward, raising his hand to knock, feeling like he was having to force it through an invisible barrier.

He had to. He could take it, he could handle seeing her older, different, seeing that she’d  _lived_.

Ruy rapped his knuckles against the door. Hard. He wasn’t going to have Seba telling him to knock again because he was too quiet.

A long moment stretched by, the pounding in his ears nearly distracting him as he listened intently.

“Well.” Seba said after a minute. “You tried.”

“No.” Ruy squeezed his eyes shut, his gut twisting unbearably as he faintly heard footsteps from inside. “Someone’s coming.”

He would play it cool, he would follow her lead. Things were different now, it would be fine.

The door swung inwards, opening to reveal a fine house inside made up of dark wood and white marble and expensive rugs.

“Ruy?”

Ruy stared, feeling like he’d been slapped. He felt like he was dreaming, hallucinating. Iria was standing there in front of him with her hand on the door, staring back at him in equal shock.

She was  _young._

She was  _exactly_  as he remembered her.

Smooth dark skin, laughing hazel-brown eyes. Her hair was free and untamed in its natural lively locks. Just like it always had been on Sunday mornings, when she didn’t have to straighten and curl it for work. The kind of hair he’d always loved best.

“You, uh,” Iria cleared her throat, smiling as she laughed a little in embarrassment at their mutual staring. “you look like...you.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Ruy said in awe, taking a step forward, but then stopping himself.

In every one of the thousands of dreams he’d had of her, this was the part where he kissed her. This was the part where he swept her into his arms, where they were together again. Every bit of him was demanding that he go to her, every fiber of his being screaming,  _she’s there, she’s right there_!

But things were different, things had to be different now.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead.” Ruy said, not taking his eyes off her for a moment, his nails digging into the palm of his hand painfully. “I should have let you know I was coming, I’m sorry, you said to come by sometime, and...I did.”

“No, no, I’m glad you did!” she said quickly, stepping back and waving them in, “Come right in, I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’m Sebastian, Ruy brings me places when he can’t bring Caprice.” Seba said, shaking Iria’s hand once they were in her parlor. “I’m glad to finally meet you after hearing Ruy talk about you so much.”

“Good things I hope.” Iria said with a smile, “Follow me back to the kitchen and I’ll get you two something to drink, I was about to make myself a mint julep.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely good things!” Seba said, glancing at Ruy as they followed Iria down a long hallway hung with paintings.

Ruy trailed his fingertips along the edges of the painting frames as they passed them, gazing up at them as if he could drink them in. Soulful abstracts, gentle portraits, sweeping landscapes and everything in between.

“Iria, your paintings, these are absolutely stunning.” he said, forcing himself not to linger too long as they passed by canvas after canvas.

“Thank you, how did you know they were mine?” Iria asked, pausing in the doorway of the kitchen to look back at him.

“I’d recognize your brushstrokes anywhere.” Ruy said, his gaze shifting from the canvas to her.

_Ruy, what’s all this? I can barely see your apartment under all this junk._

_Canvases! Paint! Paintbrushes! I am making you a painting studio, you always say you would like to learn, and now you will practice whenever you like!_  

_But, Ruy, I don’t know how to paint...and how much did all of this cost?_  

_Which is why you must learn, Estrella. Come, pull up a seat, see how beautiful this shade of orange is, it is almost as stunning as you are._  

Ruy wondered if she was remembering the same thing, or if maybe she was thinking of the countless hours she’d spent at that easel he’d bought her in a side room of his apartment, the one with a balcony. So focused on practicing that she would barely notice when he would join her, gently kissing the back of her neck as a hello. 

Judging by the way she was still gazing back at him, she just might be. 

He’d wondered if maybe she’d forgotten those things, those memories that he used as lifelines. 

“I’ll warn you boys now, you can’t get drunk on this side,” Iria said, pulling a smile back on as she waved them into the kitchen after her and opened a fridge to retrieve a stack of three metal cups. “but it still tastes as good.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had one of these before.” Seba said, watching as Iria set the three frosted tumblers on the counter. 

“It’s her specialty.” Ruy said, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms folded, several feet away from Iria as she took a bowl full of mint leaves and sprinkled some in the bottom of each tumbler, followed by a shot of syrup. “Her mama’s from Louisiana, and apparently everyone’s always drinking one of these in New Orleans.” 

“Best thing on a hot summer’s day.” Iria said, muddling the contents of each cup before adding bourbon to each. “But they’re just fine for any other day too.” 

Ruy watched as she scooped crushed ice into the tumblers, that was the part he always used to do, and he didn’t miss the way she glanced at him as she did it. Once the tumblers were full she dusting powdered sugar over the whole thing, added extra sprigs of mint leaves on top and then passed out the drinks. 

Ruy could tell they were both being extra careful not to let their fingers brush as she handed him his. 

“I’ll need to go pick some more mint from the garden soon.” Iria said, looking away from him and into the empty bowl instead. 

“I can go get some for you.” Seba said. 

“Oh no, it’s alright, I-” 

“It’s no problem, I actually haven’t seen a garden in years, honestly I’d love to.” Seba insisted, pulling at his backward cap self consciously as he edged towards the doorway, drink in hand. 

Ruy was about to protest being left alone with Iria, but caught her glance at him, as if she were looking for his permission to send Seba away for a bit. 

Ruy swallowed whatever he’d been about to say with a sip of his drink instead.   

“Thank you Sebastian, that’s very sweet of you to offer.” Iria said, “Take the hallway to your left, it’ll take you right to the back door. The mint plants are in the far back right of the garden.” 

“Bueno. I, uh, I might be a while.” Seba said, looking from Ruy to Iria and back with all the subtle social grace of a nineteen-year-old, and then left the kitchen. 

The silence between Ruy and Iria was a long one, and it only seemed to get longer when they finally looked at each other instead of their cups. 

“Thank you for the drink.” Ruy said, his brain sifting through the millions of things he wanted to say and picking the safest option instead. “I haven’t had one of these in ages, you can’t grow mint on our side.” 

“Pretty much everything seems to grow over here.” Iria said, looking like she was forcing her smile. 

He’d thought things could be as easy as they always were when she visited him...but it wasn’t remotely the same. Ruy’s heart ached as he looked at her, letting himself watch. Leaned back against the counter, barefoot in her pastel orange sundress, holding her mint julep as she watched him back. She was biting her lower lip...just like she always did when she was trying not to cry. 

“I shouldn’t have come.” Ruy said, forcing himself to look away from the four feet of empty space between them and at his frosted glass instead, setting it on the counter beside him 

“Why....” Iria paused, looking like she was trying to compose herself, “Why did you die?” Iria asked, choking a little as tears began rolling down her cheeks, “Why, Ruy?” 

“Iria, no, don’t, por favor, no.” Ruy said, feeling regret and panic rise inside him as he took a step forward. “Please don’t cry, I’m sorry.”   

“I was going to call you.” Iria said, setting her glass down to try to wipe away the tears now streaming down her face, “The night you died, I went to your father’s concert, I realized I’d been wrong, I realized I shouldn’t have let you go, I realized I should have been there for you. I, I called you, and you, you never answered, and, and-” 

Ruy didn’t remember crossing the last few feet to her, but suddenly she was in his arms, pressed against him as she sobbed, he didn’t remember their mouths finding each other, but it was already too late. Years melted away as her fingers traced into his hair and as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her as close to him as he possibly could. 

And they were back in his New York apartment again.

He was seeing her after she’d had a long day at the embassy, showing her just how much he’d missed her while she had been gone. Or maybe they were outside her building, saying goodnight after spending an evening at a symphony together, telling each other between breaths that they had to stop, that they had to really say goodbye for the night. Or maybe it was the middle of the night, and one of them had woken the other just to tell them again how much they  _needed_  them, how much they couldn’t live without them by their side. 

But they weren’t, and they knew it, and it only made it worse. 

Ruy ran his hands up her arms, reveling in the sensation of his fingertips on her skin, of the way she still fit perfectly against his chest, of the way that they still knew how to kiss each other after all these years. 

“Why?” Iria gasped, holding his face close, kissing him again, kissing the breath right out of him. 

“I died because I fell apart,” Ruy whispered, tears rolling down his own face as he kissed away the tears on her cheeks, “when you left. You knew you had to leave, I would have ruined us both, you were right, I’m sorry Iria.” 

“I was  _wrong_ , I wanted to come back.” Iria said, grabbing his collar, her beautiful eyes shut tight as she buried her face against his neck, the broken anger in her voice tearing at him, her tears hot against his skin. “But you were  _dead_  Ruy. I had to go to your grave alone, I couldn’t even go to your funeral. I had to tell a piece of rock with your name on it how alone I was, how much I missed you, how much I didn’t want to move on without you.” 

“You had a whole life, Estrella,” Ruy said softly, “you did move on, you had everything you ever dreamed of, you  _lived._ ” 

“I didn’t want to live, I wanted to live with  _you_.” Iria said, her voice barely a whisper as she leaned against him, her hands still on his collar like he might disappear at any moment. 

Ruy had no words, and so he said nothing. He held her tight, burying his face in her hair, trying to memorize her smell again as he gently kissed behind her ear. Just like he always used to. 

Because things should have been different. 

He should have held onto her, he should have faced whatever was keeping him back and tried harder sooner. 

He should have stayed sober that night, should have gotten someone else to drive him home. 

He should have been there to pick up the phone when she’d called.   

But...he hadn’t. 

“You moved on.” Ruy said, gently taking her hand and kissing her palm. 

“I didn’t.” Iria said. 

“You can’t say that.” Ruy said softly, holding her hand to his cheek, closing his eyes. “I’m not strong enough for that, Rita.” 

They stood in close silence, too many things inside Ruy fighting to be spoken, but none of them right. 

“I have to go.” he said. 

He felt her press tighter against him. “I know.” 

Ruy held her as close as he could, wishing he could do something more. Wishing he could turn back time, wishing he could be a better man for her right now even. 

Letting go of her felt like dying, but he did it. She turned away as he stepped back, unable to look at him as he took in one last look of her, and then he quietly walked out of the kitchen. 

He tried his hardest to shut out the sound of Iria sobbing once he was out of sight. 

As he walked back down the long hallway he found Seba looking at paintings, a fistful of mint leaves in one hand. 

“Are we leaving?” Seba asked, looking back towards the kitchen as Ruy grabbed his arm and towed him towards the front door, “Are you okay? What happened? I just figured you guys needed some space.” 

Ruy shook his head, pulling him along as they crossed through the parlor and out the front door. Seba was silent as they walked up the path to the road, as they walked back up the road into town, all the way to the docks and onto the ferry. 

Seba was quiet as they sat on the ferry together. The boat chugged along through the water, slipping across some indeterminate point to the other side, leaving them both skeletons again. 

“You...still love her.” Seba said quietly. 

Ruy silently leaned against Seba’s shoulder.

And cried.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is the finale of the villain au, Ruy and Iria will have one or two more chapters of their own afterward.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something I wrote for Iria’s birthday (August 16th) and that is an excellent ending point for Ruy and Iria’s story. This takes place between the villain finale and the villain epilogue. 

 

Ruy was asleep again.

Iria looked down from her book as she stroked his hair, his head on her lap as he lay unconscious on the couch, an old quilt draped over him. He had slept the better part of the last week, exhausted and physically broken from the nightmare he’d gone through.

As soon as she’d gotten the call from Seba she’d gone straight to him, finding him propped up on his couch, gaily pretending that it was business as usual despite his visibly broken ribs and arm. But he’d cried when she’d hugged him, careful not to jostle his damaged ribs, letting his story tumble out of him as she held him as tightly as she dared, and she hadn’t left him since.

Coming back to this side of the afterlife, where he had a normal body instead of only a skeleton, had been her idea. Wounds from other sides healed faster here, and his fragile bones wouldn’t be exposed to every unexpected countertop edge or snagging blanket fringe. And besides, she could only imagine that a change of scenery would do him a huge amount of good while he adjusted to finding out the true character of his family.

She gently brushed her fingertips along the edge of his ear as she watched him sleep. It was still a surreal experience to see him looking alive and healthy, both of them looking the same age they’d been. At moments like this it was too easy to imagine that they were back in New York again. That it was another Sunday morning together on the couch while he slept and she read.

It was these moments that confused her the most, making her heart ache and wish impossibly for more.   

She carefully set her book aside and slowly, slowly got up, doing her best not to wake Ruy as she put a pillow under his head instead. He blearily opened his eyes, only half awake as she tucked the blanket back around him. She bit her lip as Ruy’s eyes closed, his hand automatically taking hers as he drifted off again.

She waited a long moment before sliding her hand out of his. At that exact moment she wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him, to hold him close and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing, but…

She needed some air.

She made her way down the hallway to the kitchen, arms folded as she stopped to stare at one of her paintings, not seeing it at all.

Having Ruy back was amazing, she sometimes even suspected that having him in her home with her was doing her just as much good as it was doing him, but it didn’t change the fact that she was still married, that she had a husband to consider.

If Ruy asked her to leave…

But he would never ask her something like that.

And she would never suggest it.

“Something on your mind?”

Iria jumped, turning to see Esteban, her husband of over fifty years, standing beside her. He had his customary botanical text tucked under one arm, his quiet smile on his face, and a hat on his head that meant he’d been out in his garden.

“Teban, you startled me.” she said, forcing a smile and shoving away her train of thought as quickly as she could.

“I was just coming in for a drink and saw you staring through the wall.” Esteban said, pulling off his cap, “How’s the patient?”

“Ruy’s asleep, which is good. He can use all the sleep he can get.” Iria said, looking over her shoulder, then back again. “I, uh, decided to get a drink too. I can’t be sitting on the couch with him all the time can I?”

She’d meant it lightheartedly, but felt a flush of nervousness when Esteban looked away, picking at the cover of his book.

“I…what is it?” Iria asked, already tallying up in her head just  _how_ much time she’d spent with Ruy over the last week.

She and Esteban were hardly attached at the hip. Ever since Luzia had left home they generally only saw each other a couple times a day at most, when they passed each other on their way to their own projects. They were still friendly, freely discussing ideas and sharing meals when the fancy struck them, but their relationship had always had a freeness to it.

But even so, she had barely seen him even the three days Ruy had been staying with them. something she realized with intense embarrassment.

“I just… I guess I’m just wondering why you haven’t asked yet?” Esteban said, scooting his glasses a little higher up his nose with the tip of his thumb as he looked at her. “I mean, he’s been here for three days, you were at his place for three days before that. I’m just a little surprised.”

Iria blushed, tucking her hair behind her ear. She’d told Esteban she was bringing Ruy over to recuperate, but now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember actually  _asking_  him before bringing her old flame home to sleep in their living room.

“I’m sorry Teban,” Iria said, “I just, healing happens so much faster on this side, I wasn’t thinking, I should have asked you first. I-”

“Ria, I don’t care about having Ruy on our couch,” Esteban said, setting his book and hat down on a decorative side table. “I care about you being happy. I’m supposed to be the awkward one, but you’re giving me a run for my money. Why haven’t you asked me yet if we can break up?”

“Esteban.” Iria’s eyes widened, the shock jolting through her nearly enough to make her stumble. “What are you saying?”

“We were always plan b, Ria, we both know that.” Esteban said with a sideways smile, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair. “We were both just kids. Your crazy soulmate had just driven himself off a bridge, I just wanted to be left alone so I could study my plants. But we both had to get married, and a childhood friend was much better than a stranger.”

“And we’ve been married for decades Esteban,” Iria said, taking his hand, “it’s been lovely, you’ve always been good to me. We had a very good life, we have Luzia. I’m not going to throw all of that away just because, because…”

“You still love him,” Esteban said, nodding towards the front room, “you’re full of love Iria, and you’ve never let go of him.”

“I married  _you_  Esteban, it’s too late for Ruy and me.” Iria said, looking away, “I’m not going to leave you.”

“Remember when we were first married?” Esteban said, sidestepping until he was back in her line of sight, “He’d only died a few months earlier and you were trying to forget him. You thought the only way you could move on was if you cut his memory out of your life completely.”

“Teban, I-”

“And you tried to start painting again,” Esteban continued, folding his arms, “to prove that you didn’t need Ruy to go on, that you could cut away the time you had together and pretend that you were alright, and you remember what happened?”

Iria bit her lip, looking away again. She’d started a pasture scene that had never been finished. It had sat on her easel for months, staring her down every time she passed. She hadn’t allowed herself to work on it if she thought about Ruy, and the picture had remained lifeless until it was eventually shuffled into a closet or attic, forever incomplete.

“It was when you came to terms with him dying, when you accepted that he was part of your life and your past that you came alive again Ria,” Esteban said gently, “you were happier when you stopped trying to cut him out of your life. And right now, I can still see how much happier you are with him here, he  _glows_  when you come into the room. He wants to love you and you want to love him. I’m the only one standing between you two and frankly, it’s getting ridiculous for all three of us.”

“I could never ask you for something like this.” Iria said, her hand over her mouth as she tried to hold back the tears.

“Which is why I have to say it first I guess.” Esteban shrugged, scratching the back of his head, “I mean come on, we haven’t even slept in the same room since before you died.”

“That is because of  _your_  snoring” Iria said, laughing a little as she wiped away an escaping tear, “and you know that  _you_ were the one to suggest that.”

“And Ruy doesn’t snore.” Esteban smiled, “But really Iria. You don’t have to decide right now, and you don’t have to rush it, but I just wanted to make sure you knew I support you. I love you Iria, but we both know it’s not the kind of love that you and Ruy have. It never has been, and we’ve both always been alright with that. We’ll still be best friends and we’ll still have Luzia, but you can move on. You can go on to your next wonderful thing and I’ll be cheering you on, alright?”

There were a lot of thoughts inside Iria, but none of them were complete yet. She would need time to settle them, to think things over. Something that Esteban of course already knew.

“Thank you.” she said simply, hugging him.

Esteban hugged her back, gently kissing her forehead, “Just keep him away from drink and bridges this time, alright?”

“I’m doing my best.” Iria said, wiping away more tears as they came, “I didn’t ask, how are the new flowers?”

“The Middlemist’s Reds are blooming spectacularly.” he said with a grin, his eyes sparkling the way they always did when he was talking about his plants or their daughter, “I’m thinking about putting them all up along the front path when they’re large enough to take cuttings from.”

“That sounds lovely.” Iria said, marveling at the weight that had disappeared from inside of her.

“Well I’m going to get my drink of water.” Esteban said, picking up his book and hat again from the side table, “You do whatever you need to be happy, alright?”

“Alright.” Iria said, smiling as he walked into the kitchen and out of sight.

Not throwing away. Moving on.

She thought about his words as she walked back to the living room. She stood beside the couch where Ruy lay, he was holding the pillow that she’d left him tightly. His brows were drawn together either in pain, in a nightmare, or both.

Iria gently pulled back the quilt, climbing onto the couch by Ruy to lay down beside him.

She gently tucked his head under her chin, stroking his hair as he relaxed against her, tears coming to her eyes at the memories it brought back.

She didn’t know exactly what would happen next. There would be long talks and loose ends to tie up, big decisions to make and important things to consider. But for now this was exactly what she needed, and what Ruy needed. And with Esteban’s blessing, maybe it was time to finally leave New York behind.

Ruy mumbled something in his sleep, his hand covering hers as she kissed his forehead. She pulled the quilt up around them again and closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she settled against him.

Instead of trying to hold onto the memories they’d had together, maybe it was finally time to start  _making_  memories.

Maybe it was finally time for them to have their future together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ______
> 
> Is this the end of all their problems? No. Is it the beginning of them both figuring things out and moving on from their past traumas? Yes. Are they going to both have to work through a lot of their issues and bad habits together? You betcha. 
> 
> This is the end of their main storyline together, but there will be another post at some point which will be a month or two down the line when Ruy starts having to reconnect with his siblings. He and Iria have a lot to process, and even though it’s wonderful to be together now, there’s plenty of real life in their happily ever after that they’re going to have to sort through.
> 
> But hey, for now they’re together and happy, so let’s let them rest for a while. They’ve earned it.
> 
> \- Wit


	12. Complimentary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the fic's title, this chapter is completely free of Rodrigo Rivera. Instead, we get to spend some time with his brother Teto.
> 
> No, he's not as bad as Ruy says he is.

               This was  _pointless._

               Teto huffed to himself as the thought ran over and over in his head. It really was the most pointless thing, going on a date. This would be the…third? time he’d been set up on one, and each one went exactly same way. “Are you related to Tío Héctor?” Yes, that was his father. “Are you a musician like him?” No. “Are you visiting from New York?” No, that was his brother. “So what do you do?” Business mostly. All followed by a few niceties and an assurance that his date did, in fact, have a lovely time, and she’d give him a call next week. (There was never a call, and he was always secretly relieved.)

               He fiddled with his glasses before checking his watch. He’d been waiting for fifteen minutes now, and he was more than certain he’d gotten stood up. Which, again, was kind of a relief. Sure, it was a bit of a pain to get all the way to this café without anything to show for it—he was behind on the Rivera Zapatos ledgers, and he’d arranged a meeting with a campaign manager tomorrow that he  _really_ needed to mentally prepare himself for—but a quiet lunch in a nice part of the city certainly wasn’t the worst thing he could endure.

               He checked his watch again and glanced around for his date—not that he knew what she’d look like, he realized—then pressed his lips together before reaching down into his bag and pulling out a notebook and his pen.  _If_ he had some downtime, then he could indulge a little bit. He flipped through the notebook and got to a half-finished diagram of a mechanized nailer for shoes. As much as he liked Tío Oscar and Tío Felipe and  _loved_ their inventions, they tended to take their time in the actual  _shoemaking_ department. But if he could put this together, then they’d save at  _least_ two hours per shoe, and his tíos could spend more time designing rather than nailing.

               He’d just written out some notes on the nailer’s size when a flurry of movement startled him. He looked up to see a woman letting out a huff as she quickly tried to pull off her coat.

               “Perdón, perdón,” she said breathlessly, shaking her head as he started to get up to help her. “I came here as quickly as I could. I made the terrible mistake of  _questioning_ my professor while being a woman, and the argument went much longer than I wanted it to.”

               Teto blinked. “What are you studying?” Mentally, he kicked himself—that kind of small talk came  _after_ the introductions, but she didn’t seem to mind.

               “Mathematics,” she said simply, brushing her short hair back into place. “Probably won’t find a way to use it outside of balancing checkbooks for the rest of my life, but I love the  _logic_ of it. Even when professors are  _less_ than logical about it.” She blinked as she looked up at him, then gave a small, embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry. I should at least wait until the second date to complain about school.”

               Teto returned her smile with his own small, unsure one. “I wouldn’t know.” He paused a moment, then added, “But then, I’ve heard that you’re not supposed to mention how bad you are at dating until the third date.”

               Her eyebrows rose, and she laughed, making Teto instantly relax, before she held out her hand for him to shake. “Jasmine Flores. And yes, I know it’s unfortunate.”

               “Can’t be worse than Teto,” he said as he gave her hand a shake.

               “Your  _parents_ named you  _Teto_?”

               He grimaced and shrugged. “Well, no. It’s a nickname. A rotten one, but it’s easier than introducing myself as Héctor Rivera.”

               Once again, Jasmine’s eyebrows rose. “You have the same name as…”

               “Tío Héctor, sí.”

“Wow.” She gave a little smile as her eyes brightened. “I’m sure you get this a lot, but are you…”

Teto sighed, cutting her off. “Related? Yes. He’s my father.” He pressed his lips together tightly, then leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “Look, Jasmine, you seem really sensible, so I’m going  to lay out everything right now so we don’t waste our time. No, I don’t play any instruments—I run the business side of my tíos’ shoe company. Yes, Rodrigo Rivera is my brother; no, I don’t talk to him often.  I’m not going to take you to a concert or a movie set for our second date—or, really, any date, because movie sets are off-limits and concerts give me  _terrible_ migraines.” He swallowed as he sat up. “I’m very sorry you wasted your time coming out here and that I made you rush from school, but I figured we could save about three hours of pointless chit-chat.”

               He watched her quietly, waiting to see her reaction. Would she be angry? Or maybe she’d just get up and leave. That’d be ideal. Worst case scenario would be her insisting they kept the date going despite her obvious disappointment.

               He  _was not_ expecting her to sink in her seat and let out a sigh of relief.

               “Gracias à  _Dios!_  Ay, all this week my friends have been teasing me with ‘ _Minita, we’ve set you up with someone related to the most ROMANTIC man in México!’_  I’ve been  _terrified._ ”

               “Terrified?”

               Jasmine nodded, sitting up straight. “I thought I was going to walk into serenades and poetry. I don’t have the patience for that.” She looked up as Teto snorted.

               “ _Serenades_? No, no. I have  _far_ too much respect to do that to you. A date’s bad enough without me wailing sweet nothings at you.”

               “They’re  _terrible,_ aren’t they?”

               “The serenades?”

               “No…well, yes, but I meant dates.” Jasmine shrugged. “I mean, you just put on your nicest face and hope that’s enough for someone you only halfway like to call you again.”

               Teto nodded vigorously. “Yes,  _yes._ Exactly! And you just get all worked up for it to mean  _nothing_. I could do so many other productive things instead of talking to someone I have nothing in common with.”

               “ _Exactly!_ And then I have to stay up late with my homework because I had some bore talk my ear off for three hours.”

               “Or had to answer stupid small-talk questions that neither of us really care about.”

               “Or go see some film I never wanted to see in the first place!”

               Teto groaned as he sank back in his seat. “I had one girl  _insist_ we see my father’s latest movie.”

               “ _No._ ”

               “Yes. It was  _awful._ ”

               “Oh, and they’re such sappy things. I mean, no offense…”

               “No, they are! They really are. And I could practically  _hear_ her waiting for me to call her ‘Mi alma, mi vida’ at some point on the walk home.”

               “Ohh, pobrecito.” Jasmine leaned forward to pat his hand. “Well, don’t you worry. I won’t put you through that.”

               He looked up at her and smiled, then leaned forward again. “So, since we’re on the same page, let’s just call the date off.”

               Jasmine gave him a wide smile as she leaned forward as well. “That is  _the best_ date idea I’ve ever heard. We’ll let this die without a fight. Deal?”

               “Deal.”

               They stayed put for a moment, both grinning in triumph at the other at their grand idea. But Teto blinked, and Jasmine sucked in her lips as they didn’t move. It wasn’t… _awkward_ —Teto had had enough awkward moments to know what  _that_ felt like—but something in him wanted to stay right there with her. After all, it seemed like such a shame to leave one of the few people he’d ever been on the same page with. But, well, he didn’t want to be a  _bother._  He raised his eyebrows as Jasmine cleared her throat.

               “So, um, yes. Date’s cancelled,” she said, as she settled back. “But…well, it seems a little bit of a waste to come here and  _not_ have lunch.”

               Teto bit the inside of his cheek before he slowly replied, “It does, doesn’t it?”

               Jasmine sucked in her lips again, then nodded down at his notebook. “Is that for your business?”

               “More or less, yes. I was writing some notes when you came.”

               “I’ve still got my math book in my bag—I wasn’t kidding when I said I came straight from school.” She shrugged. “We could at least get some work done.”

               Teto nodded. He bit at his cheek again, then leaned forward and quietly asked, “I hope you don’t mind if I stay here. It’s a little crowded, and I’d feel awful taking up an extra table.”

               A smile curled at Jasmine’s lips, and she nodded. “I’d be glad to share a table with you. To work on. Not a date.”

               Teto grinned. “Definitely not a date.”

               The next hour was surprisingly  _lovely._  They both mostly worked in silence, aside from the odd comment on the quality of their food or Jasmine asking Teto to double-check her work. Finally, they agreed they’d overstayed their welcome at the café and made their way out. (Jasmine still staunchly insisted that she needed no help with her coat, and Teto didn’t fight her.)

               Once they exited, they stood in an expectant, but strangely not uncomfortable, silence. Teto shifted back and forth, and Jasmine took a breath before fixing her dark eyes on him.

               “That was nice,” she finally said.

               “Very nice.”

               “And I think I’d like to do it again.”

               Teto blinked.  _Oh._ He wasn’t prepared for  _that._  “Would you really?”

               She smiled and nodded. “You’re a very good work-partner. Seems a shame to just say goodbye and miss out on more not-dates like this.”

               He blinked again, then gave her a slow grin. “It’d be an awful shame. Finding someone to not-date is outrageously hard.”

               She grinned, then pulled a paper from her bag and quickly scribbled a phone number on it. She hesitated, just for a moment, before pressing a kiss right below it. “I’m the only girl at the university who wears this color, so you won’t forget who it is,” she said as she handed the now-marked paper to him. “Give me a call when you get the chance, all right? Or don’t. I don’t want to—”

               “I will!” Teto said quickly, then cleared his throat and smiled. “Like you said. Seems a shame to just say goodbye. I’ll call you Monday.”

               Jasmine smiled. “Then I’m looking forward to it,  _Héctor._ ” As his eyebrows rose, she grinned and pat his chest. “Someone needs to stop calling you that awful nickname. It may as well be me.” She lifted her face to look up at him for a moment, dark eyes sparkling, then quickly turned to walk away, hand raised in a goodbye. “Talk to you Monday, Héctor!”

               Teto stared after her for a moment, a blur of strange emotions bubbling up in his chest and rooting him in the spot. Finally, he broke from his trance to look down at the paper in his hand, noting how the lipstick stain curled up at the corners in a smile.

               He wasn’t a sap. Dating was still stupid, and he and Jasmine were  _definitely_ not about to start going through all the fuss that dating ensued.

               But for the first time…well,  _maybe_ he could see the appeal.  


	13. Hermanos -- Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It’s been a while since the finale of the villain!au. Miguel is getting the care he needs and Enrique is getting some much needed rest, Ruy has been spending time with Iria on her side of the afterlife while he recuperates and everything is generally blessedly calm.
> 
> Except things never end that cleanly, not when there’s been literal decades of turmoil to repair. The Rivera family at large has been undergoing some serious upheaval. Teto and Matty is doing his best to rebrand the family charities and foundations as being separate from their now disgraced parents while Teto does most of the heavy lifting with PR and finances. 
> 
> Ruy meanwhile has been characteristically absent and trying to ignore the growingly obvious unaddressed issues that still lie between him and real happiness, instead content to distract himself with Iria’s company while he recovers.
> 
> But Teto isn’t one to leave jobs half finished, and even though he’s spent nearly the last century feuding with his younger brother, he knows this may be his only chance to try reconnecting with him, and that it’s his older sibling duty to at least try. Even if he’d rather die again.
> 
> Here’s part 1 of a 2-part special for the villain!au, it’s a dig into the two youngest Riveras and their brotherly relationship, so enjoy. The Iria and Ruy POV are written by slusheeduck/death_frisbee , and the Teto POV is written by me.

****“You know, I’m sure if we just sent flowers by mail there would actually be a _higher_  chance of emotional repair.” Teto said, scratching the back of his head as he looked at the door of the house where his younger brother had reportedly been staying for the last couple of months.

Ever since the disaster.

“And we would have to pay triple for shipping.” Jasmine said with an ironic little smile, “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Hilarious.” Teto said, rolling his eyes, “But if I get punched in the face let the record show that this was  _your_  idea.”

“It’ll all be over in a few minutes anyway.” Jasmine said, kissing his cheek, “And we both know it’s the right thing to do.”

Teto sighed, holding her hand more tightly. Everything about this was strange, the real fresh flowers he was holding, seeing Jasmine young and alive looking again, but mostly him about to voluntarily speak to Rodrigo.

 Well. Pride was a dish best eaten quickly.

 Teto let go of his wife’s hand just long enough to rap loudly on the door.

  
  
  


The knock rang loud enough to be heard through the whole house. Ruy, as usual, let out a grumble of protest as he threw an arm across Iria’s lap.

“Don’t,” he mumbled against her skirt, clearly very content to keep using her lap as a pillow. “They can come back.”

He looked up just in time to catch Iria roll her eyes, though the act was softened as her fingers ran through his hair.

“You do this every time there’s a knock.”

“I just got you back, Estrella. I shouldn’t have to share you yet.”

Iria pressed her lips together, then let a breath out through her nose before she pushed his bangs back to look at him. “Look, it’s someone I expected.  _Please_ , honey, if you could be a dear for just two minutes and open the door?”

Rodrigo’s brow furrowed. “If  _you_ are the one expecting them, why would you want  _me_ to open the door?” he asked slowly. “Most of your friends on this side still look at me funny.”

Iria gave him a small, tight smile. “They’re not from  _this_ side.”

Ruy’s eyebrows rose, and his face brightened.  _Ah_ , so it must be one of  _his_ friends coming to say hello. Probably not Seba–he wouldn’t be so sneaky–but Tonio would. Or Paloma, or Cheque–Cheque would  _definitely_ be this sneaky. He pulled himself up, scrunching his face at the stiffness in his torso as he did. The majority of his injuries had fully healed, but he still wasn’t  _quite_ at one hundred percent. He really ought to talk to the person in charge of this side.

Ah, but that didn’t matter. He gave Iria a sweet, quick kiss before getting to his feet and making his way to the door. It’d be nice, seeing someone from his side. As much as he  _didn’t_ want to go back just yet, there were still some skulls he missed. So, once he reached the door, he stretched out his back, ruffled his hair, and opened the door with an excited grin.

The grin immediately died as he saw his least favorite person in the  _entire_ world on the doorstep, and, with only one spat-out profanity as a greeting, slammed the door right in Teto’s stupid face.

  
  
  


“Well, we tried.” Teto said, an entirely unexpected chuckle escaping him.

Ruy’s reaction had been laughably predictable, and now he was off the hook. He’d come, he’d tried, and now he could leave.

“Not yet.” Jasmine said, catching his sleeve as he turned to go and knocking on the door again.

  
  
  


“ _We’re closed._ ”

Iria had been sitting on the edge of her seat as Ruy went to the door, and she sighed as she heard the door slam and the snarled out snark. She’d…figured it’d go like this. And, honestly, she wasn’t all that keen on having  _Teto_ of all people here to see him. But…well, his wife had sounded surprisingly rational for a Rivera–even one that had married-in–and she’d raised a good point about the two at least making an  _attempt_ to reconcile after… _everything._  

She got to her feet and made her way out to the foyer, wincing as Ruy turned and gave her a look of  _complete_ betrayal.

“ _You_ were expecting  _them_?”

She held up her hands. “Listen, honey, I…”

“ _He_ made  _my_ life hell for twenty-three years, Rita! And that’s not even counting all the years of him  _judging_ me at the welcoming parties!”

“I know, Ruy, I know.” She stepped forward, cupping Ruy’s face and brushing her thumb against his cheek. “But…look, his wife and I talked…”

“Like she’s any better than him.”

“ _Listen._ She said he’s…a little in shock, after everything that happened. He just wants to talk, and if things go south, both Jasmine and I will end it  _right away._ ”

Ruy’s jaw set, eyes hardening as he stared at nothing in particular over her shoulder. This was the very last thing he wanted,  _especially_ after what had happened. He didn’t want to let  _any_ Rivera into his last safety net, much less the one he’d fought with for so long.

“Ruy?”

Iria’s question was followed by another knock at the door. He grimaced, then looked down at her.

“You  _promise_ we can kick him out if he does anything awful?”

“Yes.”

Ruy huffed out a breath, then took her hand and quickly kissed the palm, though his eyes were still hard as he lifted them to look at her.

“ _Anything._ I mean it,” he said, then let go of her hand and took a deep breath. He set his hand on the doorknob, hesitating until he felt Iria’s hand land on his shoulder. He set his face into as emotionless an expression as he could, then let out the breath as he opened the door again.

  
  


“Jasmine, he doesn’t want to see me. Let’s just leave.” Teto said, taking her hand.

“You both need this.” Jasmine said, shaking her head and resolutely refusing to let him pull her down the steps, “And Iria agrees. This is for both of you.”

“You called ahead?” Teto asked, grimacing.

“Of course I called ahead, idiot.” Jasmine said, yanking him back, “Now please stop acting like a child.”

Teto whined but dutifully stood behind her, pulling on his best disinterested face as the door opened again.

His mask nearly broke as he got his first good look at his brother.

He looked… _clean_.

Aside from looking alive, just like he had before he’d died, Rodrigo actually looked put together. Clean tasteful clothes, clear eyes, even his hair looked like it had been cut.

He looked uncomfortably like the Rodrigo that had lived in Mexico with them. Not the Rodrigo that had spiraled into madness, taking the family name with him. Whatever had happened to him in the last few months, it honestly looked as though he had fared the best of any of the Riveras.

And there standing behind him was the mystery woman who must have done it, Iria. He’d never heard of her before he’d started asking around a few weeks ago to track Rodrigo down. Apparently, she was some old flame of Rodrigo’s from back in New York he’d never cared to write home about. Teto had assumed she must be some tramp…but when faced with her handiwork he could already feel his respect for her rise exponentially.

“Rodrigo…” he said, keeping his face neutral as he floundered for words. “You, uh, you look good.”

  
  
  


Rodrigo rolled his eyes. “And you look like a  _cabron_ , as usual. Thanks for the visit, don’t come back.” He started to close the door, but Iria caught him.

“ _Ruy._ ” There was a definite note of surprise in Iria’s voice as she stopped him from shutting the door. She’d heard horror stories about Teto, certainly, but…well, she’d never seen him be actively  _un_ friendly. With  _anyone._

Well, unless they deserved it.

Even so, maybe that was a better reason for them to have this talk. At the very least, she could find out  _what_ had made Ruy hate his brother so much. She looked up and gave her best ambassador smile. “Come on right inside. Let’s have our talk somewhere  _besides_ the front porch.”

  
  
  


Teto glanced at Jasmine.

_I didn’t expect to get this far._

She raised an eyebrow back at him as she stepped into the doorway first.

 _Well think fast, dear._  She seemed to be saying.

Teto nodded to Iria as he entered her home, which was very tastefully designed and decorated, and joined Jasmine on one of the parlor sofas that Iria had motioned them towards.

  
  
  


As they made their way back to the sitting room, Ruy huffed as he grabbed a poncho haphazardly draped on the stair bannister, pulling it over his head as he entered the room. He gave a cool glance toward Teto and his wife, then walked over to where Iria had sat and threw himself down beside her. While normally he would find  _some_ way to maintain contact with her, this time he simply crossed his arms beneath the poncho and sank down into his seat, sending a dark stare Teto’s way.

Iria glanced over at him, still reeling from the way he was acting, then shook her head and turned her attention back to Teto. Better to get this over quickly so she could get her normal Ruy back. “So…there was something you wanted to say? That’s why you’re here, yes?”

  
  
  


“I…yes.” Teto said, looking at the flowers in his lap.

Jasmine put her hand on his knee and he glanced at her gratefully. He took a steadying breath and looked at Rodrigo, who had seemingly materialized one of his ridiculous woolen ponchos out of thin air when he hadn’t been looking.

“There’s not really any way to say this easily I suppose.” Teto said, recalling the phrases he’d practiced in the mirror that morning on the off-chance that they  _did_  end up talking, “But with everything that’s happened I thought it was my responsibility to reach out to you. With…everything that’s happened…we wanted to let you know that we don’t stand with our parent’s…choices. If we’d known anything about all that we would have left the mansion much earlier.”

He leaned forward, setting the bouquet of flowers they’d brought on the coffee table between them.

“I’m really sorry for what happened Rodrigo,” he said, sitting back again, taking Jasmine’s hand in his, “None of this should have happened, I think we’re all still processing it. I know I’m not welcome here, but…I didn’t want to just leave it unsaid. I guess.”

Jasmine squeezed his hand in approval as he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He’d said what he needed to. Now he just had to weather whatever Rodrigo threw at him  _without_  lashing back at him, and then he and Jasmine would be able to escape for good.

  
  
  


Ruy kept his gaze fixed on Teto, jaw clenched tightly as his brother spoke. He let out a long breath through his nose once Teto finished. Clearly he thought he was doing Ruy a  _great favor_  here. What an arrogant  _prick._

“So….what? Am I supposed to  _forgive_ you?” he asked, acid in each word. “You only apologized for the things you didn’t do.  _Que generoso!_ What a  _kind_ brother I have, saying  _sorry_ for what  _other_ people did.” He narrowed his eyes. “Look, you may not have splintered my arm or killed a kid, but you’re just as bad as everyone else in  _that_  family. So stop pretending you have the high ground and head back to them.”

Iria stared at Ruy as he spat his response to Teto’s apology, and she quickly took his arm as she noticed the way his shoulders trembled–with  _anger_ , she realized. She pulled his hand into hers and threaded her fingers through his, swallowing as he squeezed it tightly in a silent plea to help keep him grounded. Almost immediately, she put on a cool expression as she looked up to Teto and Jasmine, ready to push them out if Teto fought back too hard.

  
  
  


“If you had actually listened,” Teto said, showing his teeth in a false smile, “then you would have heard that I haven’t apologized for anything,  _hermano._ A lot of bad has been done by a lot of people, but not by me.”

It had been a while since he’d actually spoken face to face with Rodrigo, he’d forgotten just how aggravatingly thick he was. All temper, no brains. The worst part was that Teto knew he  _could_  be intelligent if he wanted to. He just never seemed to want to.

Jasmine’s hand was still in his, but she wasn’t showing any sign of him having gone too far. Rodrigo had misconstrued what he’d said and now he was fixing it. Teto wasn’t the one being confrontational and abrasive. As usual.

  
  
  


A sharp, harsh laugh burst out of Ruy at Teto’s words. “Not by you! Oh, sure, of course not. You’re the  _model_ son. You’ve  _always_ done right by  _everyone._ ” He tilted his head toward Iria, but kept his gaze on Teto. “You know what his favorite nickname was for me while we were growing up, Rita?  _Accident._  And you know who gave every new member of the family a crash course on the Rivera  _black sheep_ and what a  _disappointment_ he was? I’ll give you  _three guesses.”_

Iria bit her lip, then squeezed Ruy’s hand to bring his attention back to her. While nothing she was seeing was making her any more keen on his brother, Ruy getting worked up would be good for exactly  _no one’s_ sake. It took one soft, “ _Ruy_ ,” to get him to finally turn his attention back to her. His expression was still sharp, his body still tense, but he softened ever so slightly as he fixed his eyes on her face.

  
  
  


“Alright.” Teto sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “So the grand tally of my earth-shattering grievances against you are being a good son, a fight we had when I was  _nine years old_ , and having to be the one to explain why the youngest child of the family was an alcoholic addict that had drained our parent’s bank account, sullied the family name in the papers with outrageous stunts, had broken our mother’s heart, driven our father to madness, traipsed off to the United States without a second glance, left  _scar on my face_ , and left us all behind without a  _single_  phone call or letter for the three years it took him to drive himself off a bridge.”

Teto looked up at Rodrigo, surprised to realize that there was no anger inside him at that moment, just very very tightly wound exhaustion, decades of it, rising to the surface.

“So tell me Rodrigo.” he said, his voice tired and stiff, “What part of that is my fault. Where did I wrong you. Where are the lies I told. I didn’t  _have_ to slander your name Rodrigo, all I could do was try to keep your  _own_ self-sabotage from bleeding back to Mexico to stain the rest of us.”

  
  


Ruy pulled his hand away from Iria’s to point sharply at Teto. “Do  _not_ blame me for whatever happened to Papa,” he said through his teeth. “He made it  _very_ clear that I was no son of his, even  _before_  he died.” He sank back in his seat, crossing his arms as he looked off to the side. “And don’t pull the concerned son act. None of you even  _wanted_ to hear from me once I left.  _You_  probably thought my dip into the bay was the best thing that could have happened to the family.”

  
  


Now Teto was angry.

“Why does everything have to be about  _you_?” he said, his voice rising, heat flushing through him, “Why do you always have to be so dense? Why do you always need  _all_  the attention, all the spotlight? You don’t exist in some kind of vacuum Rodrigo, your actions? They actually affected other people, I know it must sound crazy to you.

“But guess who had to do all the social damage control once you left? Matty. Guess who had to keep the family together? Coco. Guess who had to talk Mama out of her depression when she would stare at the wall for hours without moving because you’d just left and hadn’t called. Guess who had to face Papa roaming the house listlessly for days because his favorite son, who by the way was the only one who had  _ever_ been the son he wanted,  _had run off and gotten himself killed_. Because it  _wasn’t you_  Rodrigo. It was the rest of us who had to try and find a way to hold our family together after you shattered our parents.”

Teto didn’t remember getting to his feet, but he was standing now, shouting down at Rodrigo as the words spilled from his mouth, leaving an acrid burning taste behind.

“It didn’t even matter that you’d done everything possible to hurt our parents, because their golden musical child of course would be better someday, of course Rodrigo would come back, of course precious Ruy didn’t mean it and would someday return the triumphant prodigal son. You never  _had_  to do anything Rodrigo, because our parents didn’t have the sense to cut you off before you cut yourself off, because you were their  _only son that even mattered._ ”

  
  
  


Ruy sank back into the seat, eyes wide as Teto’s voice steadily rose and even cringing back once he got to his feet. He stayed completely still as the accusations spilled out of Teto–even if he’d  _wanted_ to get a word in edgewise, there was no way he’d be able to. He didn’t even move once Teto finished, too much in shock after hearing his ever-cool-headed brother be  _emotional._

Iria sat still during Teto’s accusations as well, but she quickly took Ruy’s arm again as barb after barb flew at him. Right now, it didn’t matter if what he said was true or not; it was too soon after everything that had happened to be having this sort of confrontation. “Look,” she said once Teto went quiet. “I think it’s time for you to le–”

She trailed off as Ruy let out a strange noise, and looked up at him as his head tilted back before he started to  _laugh._  He covered his eyes as he laughed almost hysterically, shaking his head.

“ _Ayy_ , Teto, I didn’t think you could be  _funny,_ ” he said as he wiped his eyes. “Me? The  _favorite?_  Que gracioso!” He shook his head again, his last few laughs turning bitter. “They didn’t mourn  _me._ They mourned the musical son they  _wished_ they’d had. There’s a reason Papa only put up that damn first magazine cover on my grave; that was the last time I  _tried_ to get him to look, to listen to what I did. And after all that, what did he do? He sent a  _telegram_ saying ‘Sorry, Ruy, couldn’t make it’ after the debut I  _begged_ him to come to.”

He let his head fall forward for a moment, then let out another bitter laugh. “But  _my brother._ Why can’t you be more like him, Ruy? Why can’t you be like the  _perfect_ son that we actually  _wanted_ to have? The smart one, the  _war hero_ , the one who has a  _lovely_ family and rolls over  _every_ time we ask him to?” He lifted his head to stare up at Teto, mouth in a hard line. “There was  _definitely_ a favorite son, but it wasn’t  _me._ ”

  
  
  


Teto stared at him, shoulders still shaking slightly from his shouting.

He tried to find any trace of sarcasm in Rodrigo’s face, any sign that he knew what he was saying was absolutely ridiculous, that he wasn’t  _that_  dumb.

But it wasn’t there. Rodrigo truly believed that he had been wronged, not only that, but that he hadn’t been the golden sunshine child of the family that had drained the life out of their parents, leaving the rest of his siblings with only shells.

There were so many things Teto  _could_  say that he found himself speechless, the words clogged up behind a barricade of emotion inside him.

“I can’t do this.” he said hoarsely, turning to Jasmine, “I, I can’t. I can’t do this one Jasmine.”

She stood, her mouth a hard line as she looked pityingly at Rodrigo. They both could see how deep this ran and neither of them knew what to say.

  
  
  


Ruy let his head fall back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. “Wish you could’ve been there when they crossed over. You probably would’ve  _loved_ seeing that. Leti convinced me to come see them, and the  _looks_ on their  _faces._  It was like they’d  _forgotten_ who I was, and they’d expected to see that pendejo on the front of that damn magazine–all starry-eyed and desperate for Papa’s approval.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “The very first word out of his mouth was ‘ _Rodrigo,’_ ’ he said, doing his best impersonation of his father’s disappointed tone. “Like I was just some kid who’d tracked mud into the house.” He pressed his lips together and idly rubbed his cheek. “I hadn’t even done anything yet and I was  _still_  the family disappointment. Definitely wasn’t like the hero’s welcome  _you_ got.”

  
  
  


“So Papa missed your stupid concert. The  _one_  concert.” Teto said, the barest edge of a hiss back in his voice, “And  _that_  was the end of your world? He missed your debut concert, you knew he was a literal celebrity with a freakishly busy schedule, and that one time you couldn’t manage to get his attention, the one time you were ignored,  _that_  is what tipped you into your spiral of self-destruction? You’re even more pitiful than I thought. 

“I guess one missed concert sure is enough to erase all those hundreds of hours he spent with you on his lap learned the piano or guitar or whatever else was going to be your freakish prodigy accomplishment of the week that he could go brag to everyone about. I guess two hours of missed concert sure erases all the nights he would stay up late crowing over your scribbles on lined paper, or him constantly taking you on private outings to concerts and performances, and press conferences and parties and literally anywhere else that he could show you off to whoever would possibly listen.”

Teto squinted at Rodrigo, actual childhood hate coming back to him. “You want to talk about being ignored? Alright, let’s talk about being ignored. First of all, imagine never being called your real name, because it was a cheap copy of your father’s. Second, did you ever stop to think for one instant how much time Papa spent with me? He  _never_  took me out with him anywhere. Not once. Not  _once_  Rodrigo. I hate music. It’s never made sense to me, it gives me migraines, and that made me unlovable to Papa, all he knows is music and your blasted bones are made of it. I don’t remember a single time that he was ever interested in my projects, not a  _single_  time I had a real conversation with him about something I loved.

 

“I grew up thinking that maybe if I was perfect then  _maybe_  he would love me back, I went into business because that’s what Mama did and he loved  _her._ I hate business, but I did it anyway. And guess what, it still didn’t work. I enlisted because it was the right thing to do, and when I got back it was to a  _press conference_ , not Papa’s love. He wasn’t proud of me Rodrigo, he was proud to show me off. So don’t you  _dare_  try to tell me I was the favorite son, don’t you  _dare_  talk to me about being ignored. I did everything I could to keep from being forgotten and failed, you did everything you could to be ignored and failed even then.”

There was something wrong with his throat. It felt like it was closing up, making him choke on his words, and he was really shaking now. Something was in his eyes, he wiped at them with the back of his sleeve, wet marks left behind on the fabric.

  
  
  


Ruy once again froze as he stared at his brother, but this time for an entirely different reason. This was… _wrong._ Teto didn’t cry. Teto didn’t  _have_ emotions, and he definitely  _didn’t show them._  He was logical, he was calm; he was the polar opposite of Ruy. And seeing him start to break down left a sick feeling in Rodrigo’s stomach. He couldn’t bring himself to move or speak for a very long moment, until finally he shook his head slowly.

 You’re…an  _idiot_ ,” he breathed, eyes wide. “You had all the freedom in the world. You could have done  _anything._  And you threw it away because you wanted  _his_ love?”

  
  
  


“You already had his love, why were you so eager to throw it away?” Teto said, rubbing his eyes. He felt Jasmine’s hand on his shoulder.

  
  
  


“Because it wasn’t worth all the effort to keep it!” The words were almost a snap, but too incredulous to keep any of the sting. “You thought he showed  _you_ off? What do you think  _happened_ on all of those concerts he brought me to? I was  _always_ goaded into playing whatever I’d been writing or even making stuff up on the spot. And I kept performing, I kept writing songs  _he_ would like so that he would keep loving me.”

Ruy sat up straight, running his hands through his hair. “Do you even remember what I was like when I went to school? Every day, every  _hour_ I was terrified of doing something Papa wouldn’t like. That I’d get that  _Rodrigo_  again like I had growing up. He liked me plenty when I did music, but everything else? I was just disappointing him over and over. 

“But I kept thinking, if I work hard, if I show him that I love music the same way he does, he won’t stop loving me. My first concerto? It’s  _Papa’s_ song. It’s everything I  _knew_ he would love. That’s why I  _begged_  him to come. That’s why I  _needed_ him to be there. Because I didn’t know  _what_ I would do if Papa decided that even my music wasn’t worth his time anymore.”

Ruy blinked, feeling his eyes sting, and he leaned forward as he looked up at Teto. “You could have gotten out from under his shadow. You could have been your own person without even  _trying._ And you  _didn’t._ That’s your own fault, not mine.”

  
  
  


“I did, Rodrigo.” Teto said, blinking hard as he looked down at him. He put an arm around Jasmine’s waist, pulling her to his side. “I cut my losses. I stopped performing for him when I got back from the war. I knew it was a losing game, but  _I didn’t make others suffer for it_. I married Jasmine, she’s my whole world, we have children and grandchildren and great and  _great-great_  grandchildren. Everything Papa did to me I made sure I never did to my children. I was in business, but I made the best of it.

“Papa rarely gives me the time of day, but I knew that family was still important, and that I still needed to be there to support our siblings and parents so that the next generations could be provided for and safe and happy. Jasmine and I have an entire legacy Rodrigo, we’re not perfect, but we’ve done the very best with what we had, love or no love. We didn’t let it rule our lives. Or afterlives.”

He took a shaking breath. “So why did you have to punish the  _entire_ family when you realized  _you_  were losing?”

  
  
  


Ruy flinched as Teto spoke about marrying Jasmine and the  _grand_ family they had, an awkward chill running between him and Iria even as she rubbed his back. Maybe that would have saved him–and the family, too. Or it would have made him just like Teto. Which was the worse option?

He wilted in his seat as Teto shot another accusatory question at him, and he pressed the base of his hand to his forehead as he stayed silent. It wasn’t fair, having all the family problems foisted on him–Teto  _clearly_ didn’t understand the immense pressure that came from being the “favorite” ( _please_ ), and he was just trying to blame him for  _everything_ , as usual. He let out a soft whine as he shifted, still keeping his head down.

“I just wanted it to  _stop_ ,” he whispered. “Just for a little bit. Just to get some  _peace._ ”

  
  
  


“And did it work? After all that, did you find peace?” Teto asked, feeling calmer just from having Jasmine against him.

Seeing Rodrigo  _this_  close to admitting that maybe he wasn’t right, that  _maybe_  he had messed up, it was surreal. Seeing him as anything other than sarcastic and raging hadn’t happened in decades.

He wondered for the first time how much Iria must have hurt when his brother had died.

  
  
  


_Did it work_? No, no. Nothing had worked. Nothing had made things stop, not even his death. And he’d even driven off the best thing in his life when he’d frantically tried to find some peace without her. No matter what he’d tried, he hadn’t been good enough. Not for Papa, not for Rita…

He tried to hold off on touching Iria much while his brother was here–a part of him still fearful that any show of how much she meant to him would make his family ruin things–but the wave of utter failure that hit him was too much, and he turned to bury his face in her shoulder with a soft, begging “ _Estrella.”_ She  _was_ still here. She hadn’t stopped loving him. Not yet.

Iria blinked as Ruy threw himself at her, hands automatically going to stroke his hair. She pressed her lips together as he held her tightly–as if she’d disappear–then looked up at Teto and Jasmine coolly.

“This would probably be a good time for you both to leave,” she said softly as Ruy’s face pressed against her neck.

  
  
  


“Iria, thank you again for allowing us in your home,” Teto said, feeling a surreal sense of calm, not taking his eyes off Rodrigo, “but I’m not leaving until my brother can give me a real answer. He’s an idiot but he’s not an imbecile. I know he’s better than this, and I want to know why he hasn’t chosen to live up to his own potential yet.”

  
  
  


“Really, I’m going to need you to–”

“ _You try it!_ ”

Iria went silent as Ruy pushed himself up, trembling as he snarled out the words with glistening eyes. He sucked in several breaths, blinking rapidly as he stared up at Teto.

“ _You_ try it,” he repeated, pushing himself up to his feet. “ _You_ try having the entire  _Rivera family legacy_ on your shoulders.  _You_ try being told again and again and  _again_ that you’re  _so_ talented, but your recent work…eh, not that great. You try–”

  
  
  


“I’m not talking about music Rodrigo,” Teto interrupted sharply, “I’m talking about  _you._  I don’t care about your concertos or your symphonies or whatever you wrote or didn’t write. I don’t care what Papa told you or didn’t tell you. I’m talking about you.”

“ _My music is all I have!”_ Rodrigo snarled, stepping forward to get into Teto’s face.

  
  
  


“What about her?” Teto snapped.

He pointed at Iria.

“What about her Rodrigo? What’s more important? Your precious music or the woman you loved and who loved you? Did you let your own disappointments get between you and what  _should have mattered more_?”

  
  
  


“You leave  _her_ out of it. I never wanted  _any_ of you to find out about her and  _this is why_.” He took several breaths, then set his jaw as he stared up at his brother, quickly swiping at his eyes. “I…I…”

“ _I_ don’t appreciate being used like this,” Iria said tersely as she got to her feet. As she set a hand on Ruy’s arm, she looked up at Teto with a hard stare. “ _You_ don’t know our history.  _You_ don’t know how we got to where we are now, and trying to use  _me_ as a…a  _crowbar_ to get whatever confession you’re looking for out of Rodrigo is not appreciated.” She let out a short breath as she rubbed Ruy’s arm, then sent another frown to Teto. “I asked you  _politely_ to leave, Senor Rivera, but if I have to ask again, it won’t be  _nearly_ so polite.”

  
  
  


“While I agree that my husband is beginning to be rather blunt,” Jasmine said quietly, looking up at Teto for a moment, “I would respectfully ask that they be allowed to at least reach the end of their conversation. It’s true that we don’t know your history, that’s an unfair assumption to make, but similarly, you don’t know their full history either Mrs. Solares. This is something they’ve been struggling with for nearly a century now, and this is most they’ve spoken in nearly that entire time combined.

“What Hector is trying to say,” Jasmine continued, gently pulling Teto’s arm so that he silently sat down on the couch when she did, “is that it’s been terribly painful for their family to see Rodrigo engage in so many behaviors that are not only destructive to others, but to himself as well. The reason we came was to try and extend an olive branch of sorts, because Rod-, because Ruy has been greatly missed-”

  
  
  


“ _Don’t_ call him Ruy,” Iria interrupted.

  
  
  


“My apologies.” Jasmine said calmly, nodding, “because he’s been greatly missed from the family and there’s been so much dysfunctional anger built up over the years on both sides. With everything that’s happened, so many assumptions being overturned and the family at large having to reinvent himself without Hector Sr and Imelda to dictate things, this is the first time it’s felt like there’s been a good chance to reach out.”

“I don’t want-” Teto stopped as Jasmine looked at him warningly, then carefully continued, “My wife is better at these things than I am.” he said, looking at the floor, “What I’m trying-”

  
  
  


“So’s Rita, but she’s not speaking for me,” Ruy said shortly. He puffed a breath through his nose. “Can you just  _leave?_ ”

  
  
  


“She’s not speaking for me, Rodrigo, Jasmine speaks  _with_  me.” Teto said tiredly.

  
  
  


Rodrigo rolled his eyes at Teto’s response, but otherwise remained quiet, eyes narrowed as he listened.

  
  
  


“But alright.” Teto continued, “I’d hoped for a conversation, but evidently I assumed too much to think you were ready for that kind of thing.”

“Thank you for allowing us to visit.” Jasmine said as they both stood, taking Teto’s arm, “We wish you both the best as you…adjust.”

  
  
  


Iria gave them a short nod as Ruy fell back onto the sofa, wilting again. He pressed his lips together, then, before Teto and Jasmine were out of the room, he said, “That potential you were talking about? I  _did_ live up to it. And I was  _miserable._ And when I gave up on it, I was  _still_ miserable, but at least I wasn’t living someone else’s dream anymore. That’s more than I can say for you.” He shrugged. “But that’s what family’s about, isn’t it? Trying to make the world’s worst father love you when you know he never will.”

  
  
  


“I don’t think you have a dream anymore Rodrigo.” Teto said as he pulled the door open for Jasmine, “As long as you think of your future as either what Papa wants or what he doesn’t want you’ll never be happy.”

And then they stepped out the door, and were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been an extremely interesting familial relationship to explore, seeing the same but different traumas affecting siblings differently even into adulthood, and the emotional complexity that comes with trying to repair long burnt bridges. 
> 
> Part 2 will be posted this Sunday. And don’t worry, this isn’t going to dethrone teacher!au, this is just some role play work that Slush and I have been doing over the last couple months to relax that we’ve finally finished and have finally gotten around to posting.
> 
> \- Wit


	14. Hermanos -- Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several weeks have passed since part 1, and after there was time to cool off everyone felt bad about the fight. Teto for getting over emotional, Iria for hardly being the diplomat she knows she could have been, and Ruy for the growing feeling of discomfort that maybe he did the wrong thing.
> 
> Shortly after Teto and Jasmine leave, Iria and Ruy have their first real argument as Iria tries to talk about the fact that Ruy’s maybe still hiding from issues that he should be addressing instead. Ruy gets reflexively defensive and then pleading, trying to convince her that everything’s alright since he’s afraid that she’ll leave him if he’s not good enough. 
> 
> They both come out of the conversation ruffled, realizing that there really is a lot of work for them to both do in order for them to really have a happy ending. Iria is confident that they can work through it, especially after bouncing ideas off of Teban, but Ruy is silently terrified that maybe he won’t be able to get better, since this seems to be the same set of problems they had when they broke up all those years ago 
> 
> But this time, whether Ruy realizes it or not, he’s got more than half a century more of determination and experience than he did last time. This time he’s decided he’s really going to try to make things better. This time he isn’t going to run away. At least not yet.
> 
> (The following takes place in the Land of the Dead. Teto POV written by me, Ruy POV written by @slusheeduck .)

 

******Part 2**

Well, at least it wasn’t  _the_ house.

Ruy teetered slightly as he looked up at the smart, neat home, swallowing as he suddenly doubted his already-not-great idea. He looked at the door, then shook his head and turned to walk away–only to be stopped by a muzzle knocking forcefully into his ribcage.

“ _Ay_ , all right! All right!” Ruy huffed as he rubbed Caprice’s nose, and he could practically hear  _actual words_ in her knicker and whistle:  _Do it. You know you have to. Don’t be a chicken about it._

He gave her a quiet whine, but she merely nudged him again. So, with a deep breath, he resigned himself to the lion’s den as he turned and knocked on the door, quietly praying that no one would be home.

 

“Ay, I’m not done with the page yet.” Teto said absently, picking Canela up by the scruff, lifting her off the top on his book and setting her on his shoulder, “Wait till I’m done.”

The softly glowing squirrel chattered back at him, but sulkily curled around his neck vertebrae, her fluffy tail making an impromptu fuchsia and lime scarf. He smiled to himself as he finished the last paragraphs, feeling the eager tension in her tiny body as his fingertip traced to the bottom of the page.

“Alright.” he said.

In a blur of light she zipped down his arm, scrabbling at the paper with her tiny hands until the page had been successfully (though somewhat haphazardly) turned. She jumped to the top of the book, already perched and ready as he began tracing his finger down the paper again, letting her track his progress.

He stifled a grin at her tense anticipation. It was probably the slowest possible way to read a book, but it was certainly the most entertaining.

He looked up as he heard a knock at the door. Canela squeaked indignantly, trying to tug his finger back to the page.

“Hold on Nela, gotta get the door.” he said, offering his hand for her to scurry up his arm and perch on his shoulder.

He stood, cracking his back to the left and right before sighing and walking toward the door. Jasmine hadn’t told him to be expecting anyone, but Matty had said he’d come by sometime that week to look over some of the charity’s annual goals.

Teto twisted the handle and swung the door open.

And stared.

 

  
Ruy crossed his arms as no one came to the door immediately. There. No one was home. He’d tried. Better go back to the other side and try some other…

“ _Mierda_ ,” he hissed to himself as the door opened, then looked up at Teto as he stood in the doorway. His hand automatically went to grip his left arm, and he suddenly wished he  _hadn’t_ left his poncho with Miguel. It was easier to hide beneath five feet of wool.

For a long moment, he stood in silence, until Caprice whinnied and nudged his ribs again. “Quit it!” He shut his jaw with a clack as he looked up at Teto again, then puffed out a quick breath.

“I…’msorrythingsgotbadwhenyouvisitedokaybye,” he yammered out, then quickly turned to leave before Caprice stopped him. “ _Preese, come on!_ ” She didn’t move, and he whined as he turned back around to face Teto.

 

“What?” Teto asked, blinking.

 

Ruy grimaced. “I’m… _sorry_ that things got bad. When you visited.” He let out a breath and shrugged. “So…there. I’m sorry.”

 

Teto stood in the doorway, hand still on the knob. Canela crouched by his chin as they both watched Ruy fidget.

“Why?” Teto asked.

 

Ruy blinked. “‘ _Why?’_ You don’t ask ‘why’ with an apology.”

 

Teto kept his expression flat, raising a brow ridge.

 

Ruy grit his teeth. Of  _course_ he wasn’t going to make this easy on him. He sucked in a breath and let it out.

“I’m  _sorry_ that I got so defensive. Even though  _you_ came to my house unannounced and–” Caprice gave a few warning clicks, and Ruy shut his mouth with a click before he took a breath and amended, “And I should have behaved better than I did. Especially after the past few months.”

 

Teto folded his arms, Canela darting to his other shoulder as he leaned against the doorframe.

“I didn’t ask  _what_  you were sorry for Rodrigo,” he said, “I want to know  _why_ you’re sorry about it. Is it because your…girl-…wif-…because Iria  _told_  you to be sorry?”

 

Ruy immediately stiffened at the mention of Iria, then slouched and scowled at the question. “ _No._ ” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry because I don’t like being like that, and I’m  _trying_ to be better. Even to bootli–” He stopped himself. “Even to my  _brother._ ”

 

Teto was silent as he looked at Rodrigo, taking his time to try and figure out how to respond. Jasmine wasn’t home, meaning that whatever he did there would be no support or damage control. He had never considered this possibility and it was leaving him at a loss for words.

Canela looked up at him, the long tufts on the tips of her ears brushing his chin. She flicked her tail and darted down his side to the ground, making her way over to Rodrigo in the jolting bounds that was her version of walking slowly.

Teto nearly called her back, but decided to wait and see what happened. Even before she was an alebrije she was much too fast to catch, and she’d always been an excellent judge of character. Canela’s last hop took her right to the edge of Rodrigo’s shoe and she stared up at him, tiny nose twitching as she put her two tiny front paws on the edge of his shoe.

 

Ruy was just debating throwing up his hands and going back to the ferry–with or without Caprice’s approval–the longer Teto stayed silent, but his eyes automatically followed the multi-colored blur that ran down Teto’s front. He blinked as she reached the ground and took a few hops toward him, staying very still as she got closer. Even with the current circumstances, even with  _whose_ alebrije she was, he couldn’t stop the little smile that twitched at his mouth as she set her little paws on his shoe.

“Hola, ardillita,” he said softly, automatically reaching his hand down toward her. “You working as Teto’s lie detector?”

 

Canela bumped her nose against his outstretched hand, and then ducked under it, choosing instead to climb up his pant leg and shirt until she was perched on his shoulder.

She sniffed his hair, quickly finding his braid and tugging at it.

 

Ruy grinned as the squirrel bumped her nose against his hand, then let out a bright, surprised laugh as she darted up his side and began sniffing at his hair. He grinned as he reached up to gently rub her head with one finger, then glanced up at Teto.

“So does this mean I passed the lie detector test?” he asked, trying to keep his voice flat but failing as the alebrije tugged on his braid.

 

Teto sighed, letting the door stand open as he lowered himself to sit on the step, resting his chin on one hand. “It would probably be more accurate to say you passed the test of not having any food in your pockets. Her name’s Canela, eleven-year-old me though naming her after the churros Coco used to make us as kids was the best possible choice.”

 

“Ca _nel_ a, Canel _i_ ta,” Ruy crooned softly at her, chancing a gentle, whole-body stroke. He frowned as he processed the rest of Teto’s sentence. “Eleven? Is that when you found her?”

 

“Si.” Teto said, adjusting his glasses a little, mostly just to do something with his hand, “She was just a baby, her back leg was all mangled when I found her, I had to chase off Pepita. But I got her patched up in my bedroom and by the time she was better she didn’t want to go.”

 

Ruy’s frown deepened as he rubbed Canela’s head again. “You kept a  _squirrel_ in your  _room_? How did none of us find out? How did  _Mama_ not find out?”

  
“The one perk to having no one ever pay you any attention.” Teto said a little wryly, “I do remember you yelling at me for throwing Pepita out once though. She’d gotten the door open and I panicked when I found her ready to jump up a bookcase to get Canela so I threw her out of my room and slammed the door. You had some choice words if I recall correctly.”

 

Despite his earlier plan of being  _composed_ and an  _adult_ in this encounter with his brother, a small pout escaped Ruy. “If you’d  _told_ me you were hiding a squirrel, I wouldn’t’ve been so mad.” He patted Canela again. “Though I still might have been mad about you being mean to Pepita. It wasn’t really her fault she lived in a place that wasn’t suited for her; I did everything I could to keep her occupied.”

 

“I know, I was glad you did, it made keeping Canela safer.” Teto said, “I guess I could have told you, but at first it was a secret, and then after a year or two it was too much of…I don’t know, a personal secret. I didn’t want anyone else to know about her I guess, she made me happy and I guess I was afraid someone else knowing would ruin it.” he rubbed his forehead, “Ridiculous, I know.”

Canela arched her back into Ruy’s hand as he petted her, then twitched her tail and looked down the front of his shirt, stretching herself as long as she could to try and reach his shirt pocket, apparently not wanting to move her back until her front was inside the juuuust out of reach pocket.

 

Ruy gave a wry smile at that. “Mm, not as ridiculous as you think.” He glanced down as Canela reached down toward his pocket, then offered his hand up as a bridge between shoulder and pocket. “Here, might be easier.” He smiled, then looked up at Teto. “But I definitely would have been nicer to you if there was a squirrel in the bargain.”

 

“Missed opportunity I guess.” Teto said, watching Canela use Rodrigo’s hand and stuff herself into his shirt pocket, her long glowing tail hanging out like a puffy handkerchief as she poked her head out to look at them all smugly. “Believe it or not, she actually made it all the way till a few months before I shipped out to Germany.”

 

Ruy laughed as Canela scrambled around his pocket before poking her little face out, and he rubbed the very top of her head with a “Felicidades.” He looked up as Teto spoke, expression softening. “You got to be there for her whole life?”

 

“Just about.” Teto said, smiling fondly, “I was terrified I’d have to leave her behind when I enlisted. She was so old by then and there wasn’t anyone I could trust to leave her with. But it all ended up working out anyway.”

Teto watched Canela close her eyes in victorious satisfaction, snuggling down a bit more in the pocket.

“Well, she’s not going anywhere for awhile.” Teto said, working up his nerve as he got a frankly dangerous idea.

It was so strange to be talking with Rodrigo like this, no anger, just curious interest. Something he’d only ever imagined since they were kids.

“Would, uh, I don’t suppose you’d like to come in and have something to drink?” Teto offered, scratching the back of his head and bracing himself. “At least until Canela decides to give you back your pocket.”

 

Ruy’s hand had automatically found its way to Caprice’s muzzle as Teto spoke about spending Canela’s last few days together, a quiet apology for not being there for hers; on cue, she gave a few chirps before headbutting him gently. He leaned back against her, smiling a bit as Canela snuggled more comfortably into his pocket.

He looked up with wide eyes as Teto  _actually_ invited him in. He froze up. “No,” he said automatically, then shook his head. “Um. To the drink. I don’t…uh, I don’t do that anymore. But…yeah, I’ll….I’ll come in. For a bit.”

If Ruy still had a heart, it’d be hammering in his ribcage. This was… _scary._ Sure, Teto’s alebrije liked him plenty, but everything they’d said had just been small talk. If Teto decided to go at him again, he didn’t have anyone who could come to his defense this time–well, unless Caprice figured out how to talk in the next five minutes.

 

Teto snorted as he pushed himself to his feet, “For heaven’s sake Rodrigo, it’s only ten in the morning, I was talking about coffee, not hard liquor. Congratulations on quitting though, I remember giving up smoking, it was awful, but worth it.”

He pushed the door open, leading the way inside the house toward the kitchen before he could talk himself out of it. If Ruy had come all this way then  _maybe_ they had a chance of really talking.

  
“Eh, not that much worth it. You’re still dead, aren’t you?” Ruy joked with a nervous smile, then cleared his throat. “But, uh, but wow. I didn’t even know you smoked. What’d I do to earn  _two_ secrets from you?”

As Teto walked inside, Ruy turned and gave a three-note whistle, nodding for Caprice to follow them in.

 

“It wasn’t really a-” Teto stopped, looking back as Rodrigo’s huge alebrije started toward the doorway.

He started to say something, but shut his mouth before it got out, turning his words into an uncomfortable hum, hypersensitive to how much he didn’t want to break this miraculous ceasefire. Jasmine would  _not_  be pleased to have a horse on her wooden floors, spirit-guide or not. She barely even tolerated Canela darting across the countertops.

 

Ruy automatically froze up as Teto turned back around. He automatically reached up just as Caprice set her head on his shoulder, eyes wide as he waited for the inevitable “ _No_.” He wouldn’t be able to do this without Preese. Even if things  _felt_ fine now, there was a good chance that it’d all go to hell, and Ruy  _could not_ handle being alone for that.

He stayed absolutely still until Teto let out a non-committal hum, browbone furrowing, and he swallowed. “ _Please_ , Teto,” he finally pleaded, voice soft. “I need her just as much as you need Canela.”

  
“Is she…good? Indoors?” Teto asked reluctantly, weighing his wife’s future wrath against his brother’s current discomfort. “I swear it’s nothing personal, it’s just that I barely get away with having a  _squirrel_  indoors here.”

  
Ruy stroked Caprice’s muzzle as he nodded. “She stays in my apartment. Even when it was a wreck, she never fell or stepped on  _anything_ she wasn’t supposed to. I mean, except me, but usually that was because I did something stupid.”

Caprice gave a whinny that  _almost_ sounded like a laugh, then turned her gaze on Teto, softly glowing crest raising curiously as she waited for his response.

 

Teto smiled, biting back a joke about heartily approving of his horse’s methods. They probably weren’t on safe enough grounds for that kind of humor yet.

“Alright, as long as she’s careful.” he said, continuing his way to the kitchen, forcing himself to let go of the anxiety. Jasmine would understand, this was too good an opportunity to mess up now. “So, was she a bird or a horse when you were alive?”

 

Caprice gave a whistle in reply, stepping gracefully into the house and carefully keeping right in the middle of the hallway to avoid hitting anything. Ruy kept a hand on her neck, instantly relaxing now that Caprice was in with him.

“A horse. Do you, ah…do you remember that time I stole a horse? When I was…ah, around twenty, twenty-one? My plus-one at that year’s charity gala?” He patted her side. “This is her–a little more colorful, but not much really.”

 

Teto did remember, he remembered very clearly in fact, having been called in from an important business dinner across town for the family emergency. Papa had dragged Rodrigo to a back room and directed Teto to handle figuring out where the horse had come from, and to make sure that it got back before anyone noticed hard enough to sue.

“ _That’s_  the horse you stole?” Teto said, pausing to look at the alebrije, Rodrigo had called her Caprice.

He’d taken the horse himself, never having been one to shy away from handling animals and wanting to keep things as quiet as possible by doing the job right the first time himself. He’d spent all evening with the horse in a side pen on some family land while he made calls to try and track down its owner.

The longer he’d searched though, the less determined he’d become, seeing what terrible condition the animal was in when he took a break to feed her while waiting for some of his people to call back with leads.

Wherever Rodrigo had gotten her from, she sure didn’t look like she was going to have a good time when she got back. Underfed, ungroomed, several medical issues and even what looked like signs of abuse.

Teto had spent some time silently stroking her nose before going back into his office and making some new calls. Calls to a veterinarian and a horse rancher of good character on the other side of Mexico where the stolen horse would never be looked for again.

“How on earth did you soul-bond with a horse you only knew for an hour?” Teto asked, approaching Caprice with a carefully outstretched hand, eagerly looking her over with new eyes. He’d always wondered what had happened to her.

 

Ruy laughed. “You think Preese would let me ride her if she’d only known me for an hour?” He glanced up curiously as Teto outstretched his hand. Caprice flared her nostrils, but then knelt her head forward to bump her nose against his hand.

Ruy half-smiled, patting her neck again before he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I, uh…after my debut, I kinda…skipped town for a bit. On foot.  _Not_ my best idea. But I wound up stumbling on a horse ranch just outside the city and saw Preese, and I just…I felt a connection with her, you know?” He smiled as Caprice turned her head, bumping her nose against his skull. “So I visited her just about every day. Brought her treats sometimes. Tried to figure out a way to buy her and keep her in my crappy little apartment in Mexico City.

“Kept promising and promising I’d spring her when I got the chance.” He shrugged, watching as she turned back to impatiently nudge Teto into petting her again. “Then I caught wind of the gala Mama and Papa were throwing–and that I was actually  _barred_ from entering the venue.” He gave a soft, dry laugh. “If I was genuinely disowned now, I figured I might as well go down riding off into the sunset…well, it would’ve been sunrise, but you get what I mean. And I might as well have Preese as my loyal steed.”

He went quiet for a moment, running his hand down Caprice’s neck a few times. “She wasn’t at the ranch next time I visited. I never found out what happened; I mean, it’s not like she can tell me.” His jaw clenched, and he gave her neck a pat. “But whatever happened, we’re together now.” He forced out a strained laugh. “But she’s not having me ride her ever again if she can help it.”

 

Teto smiled as Caprice kept nudging him for attention. So she  _did_  remember him then. He held her huge head, firmly stroking up her forehead, his fingers gliding over her feathers.

“You look so much better.” he smiled, feeling a real glow of satisfaction, “I sent her to a guest ranch in Sonora.” he said, continuing to stroke her face, bending to look closer at her magnificent feathery crest. “Papa dumped her on me and told me to get her back to wherever you’d found her, but she was in such bad shape I got her a vet instead and found someone who could give her an easy time after what she’d been through. Her reward for being a part of a Rivera family scandal I guess.”

He chuckled as he gently lifted one of the feathers in her crest to get a closer look at it, it must have been at least three feet long, “I don’t think I ever told Papa come to think of it, I guess whoever her owner was didn’t recognize her picture in the papers the next day. And just  _look_  at you now, you’re beautiful, I’d love to know where you picked up these gorgeous feathers, Nena.”

 

Ruy’s face slackened in shock as Teto spoke so candidly about getting Caprice off to somewhere safe after the party. He swallowed, then looked up at Caprice. “En…en serio? That’s where you ended up?”

Caprice, patiently letting Teto examine her feathers, gave a few chitters in response before pawing at the ground (very gently), then knelt her head down to let Teto take a closer look.

Ruy shifted; if it were anyone,  _anyone,_ else, he wouldn’t hesitate in launching himself at them in a tight hug full of grateful words and headpats and compliments. With Teto, though…well, even if he was more grateful than words could say, he didn’t think that kind of display would be appreciated.

“Thank you,” he said softly, leaning against Caprice. “En serio, Teto, thank you  _so much_. I…” He blinked. He was  _not_ going to cry in front of his brother, especially not because Teto did something nice. He swallowed hard–funny how a throat could still get tight when there was no  _throat_ there–and rubbed Caprice’s side. “I was always…I was  _so_ scared of what happened to her.  _Thank you_  for making…” His voice broke. He was  _not_ going to cry. “…for getting her everything she needed.”

 

Teto looked up from Caprice, surprised to see his brother actually tearing up. His stroke down the alebrije’s neck slowed.

“De nada, it wasn’t like I could just send her back to that kind of place, could I?” he looked back at her, a wry smile coming to his face, “You know, if I knew you were hiding a horse I probably would have been nicer to you.”

  
Ruy gave a short, rough laugh at that, still recovering from the  _immense_ wave of relief from learning Caprice’s fate. He looked up, just catching an unmistakably smug look on her face before she nuzzled Teto’s shoulder. He gave another laugh, giving the bottom of his eye sockets a quick swipe with his fingertips. “If you haven’t noticed, her way of thanking people is to demand attention from them. Pobre S…ah, one of my friends still gets his ribs rattled by her if he doesn’t give her a good enough hello.”

 

Teto smiled, gladly stroking her neck. People were always so complicated, but not animals. He always knew what to do around them at least.

“Well, she deserves it.” he said, “And at least now if Jasmine catches us I have a good backstory to distract her with.”

 

Ruy smiled, then glanced down at Canela, still huddled in his shirt pocket. He brushed the top of her head lightly, as if to assure that she hadn’t been forgotten. His smile faded as he kept petting her, a realization dawning on him.

“Kinda terrible, isn’t it?” he said after a moment. “We might’ve gotten along better if we didn’t need to hide them while we were alive.”

 

“I guess there was a whole lot of hiding going on in our family.” Teto said, his smile fading.

 

Ruy’s jaw set as he stared hard at nothing in particular, hand dropping away from his pocket. “That’s practically all we  _did._ ” His eyes flicked up to Teto. “When we weren’t trying to earn Papa’s love, at least.”

 

Teto sighed, long and tired. “I honestly think I only stayed sane  _because_  I was overlooked so much. I just made my own little world when I was a kid, and then later Jasmine and I made our own world together with our family. It…couldn’t have been easy to be under the spotlight all the time like you were.”

 

Ruy blinked, eyes wide enough they threatened to fall out of his skull as he looked up at Teto. Was he… _sympathizing?_ Seriously? Serious, stoic Teto was actually admitting that  _maybe_ Ruy had actually had a hard time?

Ruy blinked several times, trying to process that information and suddenly very worried that this was some sort of horrible, alcohol-induced dream. That was about the only time something like this would have been possible months ago.

He swallowed hard as he rested his eyes on Teto. Then, voice tight with some emotion he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to name just yet, he asked, “Didn’t you say you were gonna make some coffee?”

 

“I did indeed.” Teto said, patting Caprice one more time before leading the way into the kitchen, stepping behind the bar counter and busying himself with opening and closing cabinets.

Being honest was one of his core values, something he always stuck to, but being emotionally open was an entirely different ball game. He could be sure of how Jasmine would respond when he…emoted…but anyone else always made him uncomfortable and unsure. He had no idea how Ruy might react if he tried going beyond just being honest, and he didn’t want to mess things up. Much safer to hide behind coffee for the time being.

“Jasmine’s our caffeine addict.” Teto said, keeping the conversation safely shallow as he pulled out a tin of their most expensive brand and setting it on the counter by the coffee maker. “I’m not too attached to it myself, but being married to her has made me something of an expert in the different brands just by association.”

 

Ruy tilted his head curiously at Teto’s explanation. Without so much as a word of notice, he slipped into the kitchen and picked up the tin to look at it curiously. He gave a low whistle.

“Que sofisticado, you weren’t kidding,” he hummed as he rolled the tin over to look at the back. “Most of mine comes from university students, so…eh, not nearly so fancy. Does wonders for a hangover, though.” He set the tin down as he looked at the  _very_ elaborate coffeemaker. “You, uh, you know how to use that?”

 

Teto chuckled, swapping out the filter and adding the coffee grounds and water in almost one motion before punching in a well worn pattern of buttons on the machine. “Trust me, making your wife coffee for several decades gets you to the point of being able to do it in your sleep. It was always the worst when she was expecting, she would crave all these ridiculous combinations that I’d have to make her at any hour of the night. No cup is beyond my skill.”

 

“Mm.” Despite the completely bizarre situation he was in, Ruy’s mind drifted back to Iria. What would  _he_ have done if she’d been expecting while they were together? Would have been that patient?

God, he hoped he would have.

He quickly grabbed the coffee can and looked over it with a renewed, vehement interest. “Wow, from  _Ethiopia_. She’s definitely a coffee lover.”  _Stupid._ But at least it turned his thoughts away from reviewing everything he’d missed in life for the hundredth time.

 

“Mmmmhmmm.” Teto said, leaning back against the counter, folding his arms, “I’ve still got business connections that have lasted from back in the land of the living, I enjoy being able to get her what she wants, not just what she needs. She’s what keeps me together.”

He scratched the back of his head. He could talk about Jasmine forever, but he was probably starting to stray toward emotional again. If Rodrigo went there first he could follow, that was probably the best plan. Until that happened though, even small talk was an amazing victory to be valued.

 

Ruy shifted his weight back and forth, tugging at his braid. “Yeah, yeah. It’s the same thing for me with Rita.” He grimaced. “Well, most of the time. When I don’t…”  _Ruin everything._

He bit back the end of that sentence, then quickly turned around. “So, uh, where are your mugs? I’m guessing you’ve got everything organized like crazy here.”

 

“‘A house of order’ and all that.” Teto said, pulling out a set of mugs from a cupboard and sliding one across the counter toward Rodrigo, “When did you two meet anyway? Is she from New York?” he said casually, praying this was an alright question.

He had to learn more about Rodrigo  _somehow_ , and his…whatever she was…could be a good place to start. If he could talk about Jasmine for ages, maybe Rodrigo was the same for Iria. Maybe.

 

Well, this was exactly where he  _hadn’t_ wanted the conversation to go. He tugged harder on his braid, staying quieter longer than he probably should have.

“She’s Maldonian, actually, but we, uh…yeah, we met in New York. One of those awful patron galas–it was so much like the ones Papa used to do I almost didn’t go altogether–but I’m glad I went to this one.” He shifted his weight again. “It’s, uh, it’s a really long story. And I think the coffee’s just about done, so there’s no point in starting that,” he said, voice just a little too clipped and quick.

 

Teto looked at the coffee maker, which he knew still had a couple minutes to go. Rodrigo wanted to back off the topic, which was fine. He knew next to nothing about her, but after seeing their matching tempers a few weeks ago…not to mention her undetermined relationship status…it wasn’t hard at all to imagine that there could be problems they were having.

“Well, whatever it was, I’m sure it was more romantic than our first meeting.” he said, brain working frantically to find another topic, one  _not_  related to significant others, “We were set up on a blind date, we called off the date once we both arrived, and then spent several hours barely talking to each other while eating at the same table. Life works in mysterious ways.” he picked up his mug from the counter for the sake of doing something. “How are Enrique and Miguel doing? I’ve only seen them a few times, but Miguel’s practically unrecognizable, it’s phenomenal.”

 

Ruy stiffened as Teto talked about how  _in love_ he and his wife were. Ordinarily, Ruy would be completely floored at the thought of Teto getting married for  _love_ instead of just treating it like some…chess game or whatever. But…well, the very  _last_ thing he wanted to hear about was about a happy couple.

He perked up as Teto shifted the conversation to Miguel and Enrique. “Oh, si si si, the kid’s doing  _great._ He talks my ear off every time I visit. See?” He smiled a bit as he pointed to where his ear would have been. “You know he was a musician? I know he strummed a little bit with Papa, but all of us did that at some point. He’s got a good ear, though; I’ve caught him messing around at my piano. I think it’s helping.”

He tugged at his braid again. “Quique’s doing all right. I don’t think he’ll be okay until his wife turns up; he misses her more than anything else. But he’s finally sleeping; that’s big for him. He had a worse time than…well, than I did with that whole thing.”

 

“I’m glad they’re both recovering.” Teto said, suddenly awash with topics to not say out loud.

Like that Enrique still treated him like an enemy, that Miguel at least seemed to trust him still somehow, that he’d always thought something was wrong with Miguel but had never been able to investigate properly with Papa looming over him constantly. So many red flags he’d ignored for so long. It was far beyond shameful.

He nearly opted for talking about how waiting for Jasmine had been, that he could relate to Enrique, but veered away from it sharply.

The coffee machine beeped.

“Fantastic.” he said, quickly going to it, “I mean, not Enrique having a hard time, just…Miguel being better…and the coffee.”

He poured the coffee into his own cup, reaching over to do the same for Rodrigo’s.

Canela shifted in Ruy’s pocket, opening her eyes at the smell and poking her head farther out to get a better look.

“Do  _not_  let her drink any.” Teto warned, “We’ve only just finished repairing the mess she made the last time she got ahold of caffeine.”

 

Ruy smiled as he looked up at Teto. “Letting your alebrije get into caffeine?” He tutted as he shook his head. “And you were always the  _responsible_  brother.” He sipped at his cup carefully, tilting his head as Canela tried to poke her face in, then leaned against the counter.   
  
“Maybe, uh, maybe he could come visit you? You’ve got a pretty big family and I think he misses that. Plus you’ve got a nephew around his age, si?” He rubbed the back of his head with his free hand as he added a mumbled, “I could bring him. Let Quique be alone for a bit.”

 

“It’s not so much a matter of letting her in, but keeping her  _out_.” Teto said, watching Canela aggressively shove her tiny head against Ruy’s chin, scrabbling at the edge of the mug as he angled it away from her.   
  
He leaned against the counter, raising a brow ridge at Rodrigo’s offer, “And I’d  _love_  to get Miguel around here more, I always hated seeing him glued to Papa, he needs to be around more kids his age. Luckily we don’t have too many dead family members his age, Marco would have been perfect, but there’s still  _plenty_ of family who are eager to love him.”  
  
He took a sip of his drink and then set it on the counter, tapping the ceramic handle. “The only problem is that Enrique is so understandably jumpy that he won’t let anyone even look at them, he thinks the whole land of the dead was on Papa’s side, he doesn’t realize that it was really only our parents…and Coco I guess.”  
  
He shook his head, trying not to dwell, “But we’d all love to help them both and if Enrique stays seized up it’s not going to let Miguel recover any better. You’re really the only one he seems to trust, what do you think we can do? I think with your help we could actually have a real shot at helping them both recover.”  
  
  


A pained look crossed Ruy’s face at Coco’s name, and he took another quick drink of coffee to dispel /that/ train of thought. He was having enough of a time dealing with one sibling, he didn’t need to think about any of the others just yet.

“Like I said, Quique’s going to need time. I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to come to terms with…any of what happened.” He looked up at Teto over the rim of his cup. “But like I said, I…I could bring Miguel. Promise to keep an eye on him…though it’ll probably take a long talk and explaining why I’m suddenly willing to associate with bootlickers.” His jaw clicked shut as the word left his mouth, and he sent an apologetic look up at Teto. “Ah, no offense meant, Teto.”  
  


 

Teto chuckled, shrugging at Ruy’s apologetic look, “Don’t worry about it, it’s hard to get offended at slurs that went out of date seventy years ago. It’s like a black and white film cursing you out, my own teenagers did far worse than that.”

And Ruy had actually  _apologized_  for it. Mostly. Teto wasn’t about to punish  _that_.  
  
“I think that could be an excellent first step though. With your help we can get Miguel around loving family again and loosened up. Also, Jasmine and I have also tracked down some of the best therapists we can find, I’m not sure Enrique has started either of them in therapy yet, but they both need it desperately. Maybe you could suggest it next time you see them? I think it would go over much better if it was your idea.”  
  
Teto rolled his eyes at the ceiling before taking another sip, “I mean honestly we all need therapy after this. Jasmine keeps pestering me to make our next appointment already.”  
  


 

Ruy winced at the mention of therapy. He’d heard Teban whisper about it to Iria a few times while he’d been there, but… _ay_  could he just have  _some_  time to recover first? They all needed that before ripping open fresh wounds.  
  
“Maybe. I’ll see how he’s doing,” he mumbled before taking another sip. He tapped against his mug, bones clinking out a small tune, then looked up at Teto as a thought struck him. “What…do  _you_  need therapy for? I mean, aside from our parents being…from what they did. I think the only one more stable than you was Coco.”  
  


 

“Have you never been before?” Teto asked, looking up at Ruy, well, it would certainly explain a lot.   
  
“I’m probably only stable /because/ of therapy. My son Nicolas had some struggles when he was a teenager so he started seeing a therapist, when I saw how much it helped him Jasmine convinced me to start seeing a counselor of my own for a bit. I was able to let go of a lot of things, it made me a better parent.”  
  
Teto tapped at the counter, making a small whistling noise to try to get Canela to stop trying to get into Ruy’s cup.  
  
“Then when Jasmine died we went to couples counseling for a few months since we’d been apart for seven years just to help things go smoothly while we got back together. Which is pretty standard I think for couples here, helps you reconcile the time you had apart and everything.”  
  
Teto opened a cupboard, getting out a small packet of peanuts and reaching over to split it open on the counter near Ruy, finally getting Canela to zip down and start rifling through them instead of bugging his brother.  
  
“So I guess by now it just feels natural. It’s good to have someone from the outside with a level head to help you untangle your own thoughts and figure out how to handle things. It’s too easy to get snarled in emotion and broken thought processes when you’re dumped in something you can’t handle, I’d be a mess if I hadn’t gotten counseling. I think everyone could use it sometimes to be honest.”

  
  


Ruy squinted down at his cup as Teto spoke. Part of him, of course, wanted to argue that he’d made a jab about Ruy’s own mental state and that he didn’t  _need_  a therapist,  _thanks_ , he’d rather just enjoy the new (metaphorical) life in front of him rather than go back to all the times he’d been hurt.  
  
But considering he could hear at least Seba and Iria (and Caprice’s knicker) in his head telling him that was stupid, he figured it best to hold his tongue there, instead making a vague noise of agreement before taking another drink and figuring out a better conversation path.  
  
“You were always smart about stuff like that,” was what came out, followed by, “I kind of hated you for it. I mean, I hated you for a lot of things, but being able to keep your head under control was one of the big ones.”  
  


 

Teto paused at the backhanded compliment, trying to untangle how he was supposed to react to it.  
  
“Well, I guess I just don’t think most things are worth getting very worked up over.” he said, shrugging. “Most of the time I’d rather just hole up with a book alone than deal with drama anyway, makes me useless at parties.”  
  


  
  


Ruy stopped mid-drink, shaking his head and pointing at Teto as he swallowed. “Drama is only at Mama and Papa’s parties.  _Mine_  are completely drama-free,” he said with a smile.

Teto squinted at Ruy with a doubtful smile, “You’re telling me you’ve never had the police called or a fight break out or especially loud music at any of your parties before?”

Ruy waved a hand. “Loud music is  _necessary_ , and the police are basically best friends with me by now!” He stared up at Teto as he added very seriously, “But there is  _no_  fighting. That rule’s set in stone.”

He shrugged as he finished the rest of his coffee. “En serio, the most drama is when a freshie comes and gets a little, ah, overwhelmed. But I always take care of it…well, if I can get to them before they leave.”  
  


 

Teto snorted at Ruy’s comment about being friends with police. He was sure they were /very/ familiar with each other.   
  
His seriousness about the no fighting rule surprised him a little, but in a good way. It was funny to imagine Ruy as directing anything, even his own party, but he  _was_  a conductor, so maybe not.   
  
“You help new arrivals?” Teto asked, pushing his empty mug to the side and reaching out to stroke a finger down Canela’s back as she ate a peanut, turning it back and forth in her tiny paws as she attacked it, “That explains how you helped Enrique so well I guess.”  
  
  


 

Ruy’s browridge rose at Teto actually  _laughed_  at his joke, and he smiled a bit before tapping on his empty mug. “Some of them, if I can. I figure if they’re showing up to one of my parties so soon after dying, they need some help getting adjusted." 

He shrugged. "It backfires sometimes. I mean, obviously I’m not  _the best_  option for getting settled, and, ah, sometimes people get the wrong signals. But it’s found me some great friends.” He looked up. “That’s how I met Seba. He’s the one who was yelling at the police the night everything happened.” He half-smiled. “I think you’d like him, actually. He’s so  _serious_.”  
  


 

“That’s right, the one in the hat.” Teto said, nodding, “I think he was the one to call me some especially exciting /modern/ names when he saw me at the police station. He seemed to have his head on straight though, if he hadn’t raised the alarm at exactly the right time we would never have gotten this mess sorted out. And here I thought you were allergic to serious people.” Teto smiled.

“That’s really decent of you to be willing to get involved like that though,” Teto said, gently tapping Canela’s head until she finished her peanut and grabbed his finger to make him stop, glaring at him for his teasing, “I have trouble convincing myself to get tangled up in other people’s trouble, but there’s a lot of people out there that just need someone to be their friend. That’s a real talent, being a friend, it’s one you’ve had ever since we were children.”  
  


 

Ruy couldn’t help his grin as Teto mentioned Seba swearing at him, though it dropped to a curious look as he continued.  

“Really?”   
  
The surprise in his voice /probably/ made him sound sarcastic, but it was genuine. After all, this is the brother that’d called him selfish most of his life; he’d been sure that kind of compliment was impossible for Teto.  
  


 

“Well sure,” Teto shrugged, cupping his hand to let Canela curl up in it, her long tail falling over the side. “I mean you’re a disaster, but people have always liked you anyway. You should have seen how many people tried to show up to your funeral, they weren’t all just fans, there were  _dozens_  of people who swore they were best friends with you.   
  
"People don’t trek across the world to mourn someone who didn’t matter. I have no idea how you do it, but whatever it is you do, you seem to really manage to make people feel welcome and needed. Your police station friend alone was certainly ready to pull someone apart for you if needed.”  
  
Of course there was a downside to that, making friends with so many people inevitably attracted bad influences, but it was a grudging realization that had stuck with Teto ever since the funeral. Often wondering why that skill hadn’t quite seemed to stick with family instead of only friends.

  
  
  


Ruy fell silent, letting Teto’s words turn in his head for several long seconds as he stared down at his cup. Finally, he swallowed and shook his head.  
  
“I don’t know either,” he murmured. “I just…I  _like_  people. I like how messy and imperfect and passionate we all are–even after death when you’d think we’d all have it together. And sometimes you find people and you just…you’re in perfect harmony, you know? And the more people you find like that, it’s like…you’re building an orchestra. So I seek them out wherever I can.” He gave a little laugh as he leaned against the counter again. “Dios, that sounded like a sappy interview clip.”   
  
He shrugged.  "But I do mean it. And I think our family helped with that. Everything always had to look  _so_  perfect.“ His jaw clenched slightly. "I think any bit of that human messiness died with that de la Cruz man.”  
  
  


Teto listened thoughtfully, Ruy always had been the poetical one, he’d forgotten how well he could phrase something lyrically when he got pensive.   
  
He sighed, resting his chin on his un-squirreled hand as he leaned against the counter. He’d wondered about that man himself several times in the last few months. “You know, maybe that first death was  _so_  messy that they felt like they had to compensate the rest of their lives. Maybe that was why things were so miserable.”  
  
He stroked Canela with his thumb, “But we still had plenty of "human messiness” though, I mean, remember whenever Mama Mari came to visit? Didn’t get any messier or more human than that.“

 

 

Ruy clenched his jaw. "I don’t know. I have a hard time imagining them as anything  _but_  obsessed with perfection and their image.”   
  
He stood up straight as Teto mentioned Mama Mari, and he let out a laugh loud enough to startle Caprice in the doorway, then he leaned over to turn Teto’s face toward him. “No, no  _no_ , mi corazon. It’s  _Abuelita_ , not Mama Mari,” he said, pitching his voice in an approximate imitation of their grandmother. He laughed again as he let go of Teto’s face. “Dios mio, I  _hated_  her. You did, too, I remember.”  
  


 

Teto half gagged, barely needing to fake any part of it as the memories of their overbearing grandmother came rushing back, but also startled at Rodrigo having actually touched him, actually  _joking_  with him.   
  
“Whoa, whoa, you can’t just spring that one me,” he laughed, waving a hand, “I swear my whole childhood just flashed before my eyes, I can’t do another one of that witch’s visits again.  
  
"I swear my greatest accomplishment was getting successful enough to be out of country whenever she tried to visit. I remember both of us hiding at the top of the stairs to get away from her, those truces were one of the only times we always got along I think.”  
  


 

Ruy laughed. “Remember the time we hid in the attic for /hours/ to keep away from her? You kept shushing me to keep Mama from finding us.” He grinned. “And you never sacrificed me like Matty did. He  _shoved_  me at the piano that time she turned up without any warning. I played for hours, and she kept patting my hair and babytalking at me about how I’d be a great musician just like my papa.”   
  
He pulled a face. “At the very _least_ , being the black sheep meant I never had to deal with her post-death.”  
  


 

Teto grinned, “Well  _someone_  had to get you to shut up if you wanted to stay safe. That was the one time I was glad I didn’t know anything about music, I was nearly invisible after the first hour if I stayed out of sight.”   
  
Teto reached up to Canela where she’d scrambled up to the top of his head in panic at Ruy’s sudden laugh, but she chattered back at him, probably annoyed at no longer being the center of attention.  
  
“And that’s right, you probably haven’t seen her in decades have you? She’s just as awful as ever, I’ll tell you that much.”

 

Ruy giggled as Canela chattered angrily at him. “Lo siento, Canelita, lo siento. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he assured, then shook his head. “Did you hear about the time she showed up at one of my concerts? I think I can pinpoint  _that_  as the night I started drinking tequila more than water.”  
  


 

Teto grimaced, “I hadn’t heard about that one, but I’m imagining her invading the stage halfway for some reason?   
  
"And honestly I can’t blame you, I probably went through a pack a day whenever she invited herself to stay over to "spoil her great grandchildren.” I’m just glad she was gone by the time Adrian was born, she would have been intolerable if she’d had another musical descendant to fawn over.“  
  
 

Ruy laughed. "Not quite, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had. It was…after my debut, but before I became…” He waved his hand vaguely in front of himself. “…like this. It was a concert of Rossini’s pieces, and to this  _day_  I can’t perform anything by Rossini or I get in a panic. The performance goes well, we leave, and as I step out from the back I just hear ‘Rodriiiiiigo!’   
  
"Before I can do  _anything_  she’s grabbing me like a lifeline, all 'Mijo I  _knew_  you were talented!’ and 'But why didn’t you perform? You play beautifully, Rodrigo, you shouldn’t be so shy!’ and  _of_   _course_  the papers heard her from a mile away. So she got  _interviewed_ , all while holding on to me like I was her lifeline.” He laughed as he shook his head. “It was like her visits but  _ten times worse_. And she was having the time of her life.”  
  
He laughed again, letting out a sigh as he leaned back against the counter. “I can’t tell you what they actually wrote; that was the second time I ever got blackout drunk. I wouldn’t be surprised if those interviews wound up on the ofrenda.”

  
  


“Now  _that_  sounds miserable.” Teto said, grimacing, “Were you…alright? I mean…obviously things didn’t turn out well by the end but…”  
  
He paused, the old old question he’d had for decades pushing its way out despite his better sense. Talking about your death wasn’t nearly as taboo as a living person might think, more like discussing a long past fairly unfortunate event than anything, but it still felt surreal to be talking normally with Rodrigo.  
  
“I mean, after you left, after you went off the deep end, it was really hard to keep track of what you were doing outside of sensationalist headlines. I tried to for a while, tried to track what was happening to you, but then the stress got too much for me and Jasmine made me stop for my own health.  
  
“So when we got the call that you’d finally died it took me weeks to try and track down what had happened. But everyone you’d known was extraordinarily tight-lipped. Not even money could get them to budge when I sent people asking around about what had really happened the night you went off the bridge. Or even the weeks before.”  
  
Teto rubbed his forehead, sighing as old memories of long transcontinental flights and stacks of forensic files and sleepless nights came back to him.  
  
“I had to make sure that nothing…had happened to you, like, someone coming after you. Foul play. But I could never find anything like that, you were just…dead. I understand if it’s not a question you want, I’ll back off if you say so, but I have to ask Rodrigo, was…was it /really/ an accident that night? Did you really just black out that night or…?”  
  
  


 

Ruy watched Teto with serious brown eyes as he fumbled through to his question, brow ridge raising when Teto mentioned his friends refusing to tell him what had happened but otherwise keeping his face composed. When the question finally came, he let out a long breath through his nasal cavity.  
  
“Are you wondering if I was murdered or if it was a suicide?” he asked evenly.  
  


 

“Yes.” Teto said, relieved to have the beating around the bush done with, “I’m sorry, Jasmine would probably tell me to be more delicate, I know. But it’s been keeping me up at night for decades now.   
  
“On the one hand there weren’t any signs of tampering with the car, but you were also known for having an incredible alcohol tolerance. From what I could tell there was  _something_  that went worse in those last months so it  _could_  have been you passing even your own limits, making it an accident, but I know if I had been in your place I would have killed myself, there was far too much pressure on you to survive. So I’m stuck, I couldn’t figure it out.”  
  
Teto could tell he was getting too eager as he laid out the puzzle pieces he’d collected and held onto for ages, pulling them out to share them with Rodrigo. Everyone always said he got too deep into his puzzles, that he got too analytical, but he’d thought about this one way too long  _not_  to try and finally get the answer.   
  
He looked up at his little brother, trying to brace himself for the likely disappointment of Rodrigo brushing him off instead.  
  
  


Ruy crossed his arms, starting to puff out his cheeks but remembering that he didn’t have skin here. He looked up at the ceiling.  
  
“There was a while I thought it might’ve been a hit,” he said. “I, uh, I made friends with gangsters in Vegas? That’s a whole different story, but I thought maybe I did the wrong thing on my last visit and they took me out. Wound up visiting one of them on the other side, and apparently they were just as surprised as everyone else.” He rubbed the back of his head. “For a split second a couple weeks ago, I thought it might have been Mama and Papa. Something like a mercy killing, you know? Stop having the prodigal son ruin their reputation. But if they were as broken up as you said they were, then I don’t think that was it.  
  
"I guess, in a way, it was a drawn-out suicide. Once Rita left, I wrote my last symphony and just kinda waited for death to catch up to me.” He shrugged. “I always knew I wouldn’t live that long. I didn’t want to die, but I wasn’t trying that hard to stay alive, either.” He rubbed his face. “I honestly don’t remember much of my last month–I was pretty much living on cocaine and whiskey. So…I didn’t  _intentionally_  drive off that bridge. I shouldn’t have driven, but I did, and I died.”  
  
He looked up at Teto with a half-smile. “I’m guessing that was one of your puzzles. Sorry, but I can’t believe you’d be that broken up about me dying after our last goodbye.”  
  
  


“For heaven’s sakes Rodrigo, even your  _death_  was tragically romantic.” Teto said, gazing into the middle distance as he rubbed his chin sorting out the last piece of the puzzle. A drawn out suicide, beautifully terrible. “And Rita? Was she someone you were dating? That makes so much sense, that’s exactly the kind of thing everyone refused to talk about.”  
  
He nearly reached into the cupboard for a celebratory drink but remembered Ruy’s new sobriety goal at the last second and grabbed the coffee pot instead. He refilled his cup and took a long celebratory sip.  
  
“And honestly no, I wasn’t broken up.” He said, not harshly, just honestly, maybe a little tiredly, “it was more like…like when a loved one finally passes away from a terminal illness.  There was just a terrible kind of relief, the family didn’t have to suffer anymore, you were supposedly finally out of your misery. It was finally over. Kind of. I still needed to know though, about what had happened. You’re still my brother even if you’d died the night you left that stupid posadas party.  
  
“I mean, up until that point I think I was on you so much because my twenty-year-old self still thought I could “fix you” and took it personally when you refused to cooperate.” Teto said, grimacing, “But when you finally punched me and got shouted out something changed, I realized I’d never be able to fix it. I just had to let it go. Let  _you_  go. So when you died it was really just a years-long process coming to an end for me.”  
  
He sighed, taking another sip. “I hope you’ll forgive my cut and dry way of thinking about it all, it can be annoying for some people.” He paused, “well, really I hope you can forgive me for my explosion a few weeks ago, I guess I was thinking like my twenty-year-old self again with us both looking like it and it was an inexcusably ridiculous display in my part. I really thought I’d stopped caring but apparently I hadn’t quite managed that.”  
  
  


Ruy gave a wry smile, then picked up his empty cup and tapped it against Teto’s cup in a mock toast. “That’s the Rivera way, Teto. We never stop caring about things that hurt us.” His jaw clenched tightly as he looked away. “I’m…sorry, too. Again, for how I acted. I just…” He shut his eyes. “I felt… _good_. For the first time in almost a century, I felt  _good_  about where I was. I was back with Rita, I was away from the family, I was able to be sober and relaxed and…and  _happy_.   
  
"And then…and then you showed up and the bubble popped. And I was just hit with everything I’d spent my whole life and death running from in the one place I felt safe and suddenly it was  _ruined_.” He grimaced, trying to force the tears away. He was /not/ going to cry in front of Teto. “And then after you left, Iria and I fought and suddenly everything was too real again and I was so  _bitter_  that you’d ruined everything and left me stuck remembering that I was still the same wreck I was before Vico had gotten to me and…”  
  
He sucked in a breath, quickly swiping at the bottom of his sockets with his fingertips before he let it out in a huff. “Look, you really wanna know why I’m here apologizing? It’s because I spent four months being treated like I’m actually a good person, and I want that feeling  _back_. So the place to start was apologizing to you, because that’s the sort of thing I figure a good person would do.”  
  
  


  
  


Teto stared at Rodrigo as he actually broke down. Not in lies or in anger, but actual real distress.  
  
He had absolutely no context for dealing with a  _Rodrigo_  like this. The only schematics his brain could find was how he would helped his own children through something like this.   
  
Hopefully it would be enough.   
  
He crossed to Rodrigo’s side of the counter, putting a hand on his shoulder. He’d try a hug if it really were his own son but he didn’t want to push it.  
  
“You really have grown up haven’t you?” He said, unable to keep some of the wonder out of his own voice, “Rodrigo you’re not running away or covering things up, you’re actually wanting to fix them. That’s… _really_  good.  
  
“And Rita, that’s Iria…you two are  _still_  together after all that time and trouble having passed? That’s really amazing. That sounds like something worth fixing.  
  
“And…for what it’s worth, I do think you’re a good person…” Teto said, smiling painfully, “just also an incredibly stupid brother sometimes.”  
  
  


  
  


Teto’s comforting was…incredibly stiff and borderline painful to listen to, but that didn’t matter. The  _moment_  his hand touched Ruy’s shoulder, he automatically leaned against his brother. Had he ever done this before? Possibly that time when they were both hiding in the attic–every other time had he’d either been shrugged off or deliberately trying to get a rise out of Teto.  
  
“I’m so tired, Teto,” he said quietly. “I’m tired of fighting the family. I’m tired of pushing my limits. I’m tired of being…” He waved his hand vaguely. “… _this_. I’ve been  _this_ for over seventy-five years.” He sighed, then looked up at him. “How do I stop?”  
  
  


  
  


Teto’s brain reeled, but as Rodrigo leaned against him his hand automatically switched to his other shoulder, holding him in a side hug that still felt surreal, but a whole lot less stiff and awkward than he’d been a second ago.  
  
“ _That_ ,” Teto said, finally impossibly feeling like he was on safe ground, “sounds like a  _perfect_  question for a therapist. If I pretended to know the answers right now I’d be lying, but if you really want to figure things out then you’ll do it. You’re too stubborn not to. Not to mention we’re all having to root up old problems right now, so you’re in good company. If you want company. Miguel isn’t the only one we’d love to have back.  
  
“I can help…if you want. I can recommend you the best therapists, our therapist Tina is very sweet and enthusiastic, I think you’d really like working with her if you even wanted to just try one session to feel it out. She can help you talk things out and make a plan to tackle it.  
  
“And for the addiction part, well, my smoking was never quite as bad as your drinking was, but I do know what it’s like to quit and I could help with that too if you like, to keep you accountable if you want.”  
  
  


  
  


Ruy whined and shut his eyes as Teto turned the subject back to therapy. He was  _probably_  right, and Ruy knew he should  _probably_  go (especially since he knew for a fact he’d be a therapist’s dream patient), but…well. He’d asked for a solution, and Teto gave him one. That was kind of his thing, after all.  
  
“There’s one back on the other side I’ve been meaning to call. I’m staying over there,” he murmured. “It’s…easier with alcohol over there, too.” He shrugged with a half-smile. “Can’t get drunk so why bother. But…thanks. I’ll, um I’ll call if I start getting in trouble.”  
  
He glanced up at Teto, browbone furrowed. “Would you  _really_  love having me back, or are you just trying to butter me up into going to therapy?”

  
  
  


Teto paused to really consider it, knowing Rodrigo wanted a real answer, not whatever sounded best.  
  
Did he  _really_  want to have him back?  
  
“You know, I don’t really think we really got to know each other in the first place. Not as adults.” Teto said, looking at him, “I don’t think it’s wanting you  _back_  as much as I’m curious to really meet you in the first place. The best you. Do I want the old stuff back? Absolutely not. But I think I would love to get to know my brother. For real this time, starting over. It’ll take a while to untangle everything for real, but I think it could be really good for  _everyone._  
  
Teto shoved Ruy’s shoulder a bit as he stepped back with a smile. “I mean, today’s actually been surprisingly nice. Not a single casualty so far.”  
  
  


  
  


Ruy smiled as Teto gave him a friendly shove–probably the closest to actual  _brotherly_  contact he’d ever given–then rolled his shoulders with a smile. “And you kept all your teeth, imagine that.”   
  
He stepped back, crossing his arms. “Well, I have a knack for attracting serious people in my life now, maybe you could join the chorus of people saying 'Ruy, don’t.’” he said with a grin, then arched a brow ridge.   
  
“So…I know you were figuring out the puzzle of how I died, but…why were you trying to keep tabs on me in New York?”  
  


  
  


Teto scratched the back of his head, putting his other hand in his pocket.   
  
“I…don’t really know. If I did know I’ve forgotten the reason.” Teto said with a shrug, “Morbid fascination maybe? Perhaps I was just used to spending so much energy thinking about you for so long I didn’t know how to give it up all at once. Or maybe I was still worried about you anyway. Maybe all of the above. Who knows.”  
  
Teto hadn’t thought about  _that_  in decades, but he felt that his guesses were all probably pretty close.   
  
“I imagine you’re probably ready to get back to Iria, I’ve held you here long enough.” He said, smiling, “Feel free to drop by again whenever you like for more coffee. Oh! And we can set up you bringing Miguel over soon, that will be so good for him.”  
  
  


 

Ruy half-smiled. It maybe seventy-five years after the fact, but…well, it was nice to know  _someone_  had worried about him then.   
  
“Yeah yeah, of course,” he said as Teto nudged him out. “But really quick; you said you had a son who’s a musician? Is he… _here_  yet?”  
  
  


  
  


“Oh Adrian?” Teto smiled as he led the way back to the front door, not exactly  _wanting_  Rodrigo to leave, but also knowing a good stopping opportunity when he felt one, “he just arrived a year or two ago actually. He writes a lot of his own music but got much more into “electronic” when he got older, I think he’s very much into rearranging old songs in his computer programs than he is playing real instruments. You know he actually made an ofrenda for you in his room when he was little, it had this awful newspaper clipping photo of you being arrested for public drunkenness or something. He was a big fan of yours growing up, we were terrified he was going to be just like you.”  
  
  


 

Ruy’s browbone shot up at the mention of having a little ofrenda to him, and he chuckled as Teto

mentioned  _which_  photo he was using.  
  
“Well, I’d like to meet him, if it’s okay,” he said, then held up his hands. “Promise, Teto, I’ll only keep the talk to music, not all the fun things I got up to. Last thing this family needs is another  _this_.”  
  


  
  


“Don’t worry about it, you can talk about whatever you want. Adrian’s a grandfather by now, he can do whatever he wants with his afterlife, I trust him.” Teto chuckled, imagining Adrian embarking in wild shenanigans, “And honestly he’d be delighted to meet you. I think he’s even…”redone” some of your songs if I remember correctly. Let me know the next time you want to come over and I’ll make sure he’s here, it’ll probably throw him into a panic at finally getting to meet you properly, you died years before he was born.”  
  
  


  
  


Ruy chuckled. “I’ll be gentle with him, promise.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Y'know, it’s kind of sad I didn’t get to meet them. I actually like being a tío.”  
  
He started to open the door, but looked up as Caprice gave a nicker and nudged her head against Teto’s ribcage. “She wants a proper goodbye.”  
  
  


 

Teto didn’t know what exactly to say to that, he’d spent years being /grateful/ he hadn’t had to deal with “Tio Ruy” being around his children, but suddenly it did sound extremely sad.  
  
Instead of thinking about it too hard he wrapped his arms around Caprice’s neck, burying his face in her feathers for a moment before pulling back and stroking her forehead.   
  
“It was  _very_  good to see you again.” He told her. He turned to Rodrigo, “I’m not sure where Canela is but-”  
  
He was interrupted by a barrage of angry chattering at their feet, Canela looking up at him fiercely, probably upset to see him paying another alebrije attention.

  
  
  


Ruy laughed at the angry chattering, stooping down to carefully pick up Canela. “You get a goodbye, too, Canelita, then Teto will have your full attention.” He grinned as he carefully patted her head with his fingertip. “Tell you what, if I ever cut my braid, I’ll give it to you, suena bien?”  
  
He handed her off to Teto, then opened the door and waited for Caprice to step out first. He lingered for a moment, looking up at his brother. “Uh, Teto?”  
  
  


 

Teto watched Canela sulkily accept Ruy’s pats and then zip up his arm as Ruy handed her back. She wrapped around his neck like a pouty scarf, narrowly watching Caprice leave.  
  
“Yes?” Teto asked, looking up as Rodrigo hesitated at the door.  
Ruy shifted his weight back and forth for a moment, debating. There was a lot inside him that  _wanted_  to be said, but he couldn’t quite get them into words–it was more like an orchestra tuning up. So, taking a deep breath, he threw himself at his brother to give him a tight hug.  
  
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Thank you /so much/ for saving Caprice, I mean it. And…and thanks for letting me apologize.”  
  
  


 

Teto stood frozen for a moment, startled at the tight hug.   
  
For the millionth time that afternoon his brain frantically noted that  _this was Rodrigo_.  
  
But so what? Good. It was about time they were  _both_  able to grow up and finally get this far.  
  
Teto returned the hug, maybe not quite as tight as Rodrigo, but just as warmly.   
  
“Of course, thanks for coming by to do it. I think we  _both_  needed this.”

  
  


  
Ruy nodded, giving Teto one last squeeze before pulling back. He gave him a smile as he stepped out into the doorway.  
  
“I’ll send you an invitation next time I throw a party, whenever that is. Might get you to loosen up a little bit,” he said breezily, giving Teto a grin. “And, uh, call me about seeing Miguel. We’ll figure it out.”  
  
He gave Teto a little wave, then turned and began walking away. Something in him felt… _lighter_. More fresh. Like something that had been festering away inside of him had been cut away.   
  
Things wouldn’t be perfect. If they weren’t perfect with Iria, then there was  _sure_ to be bumps with Teto. But…it was nice, not hating his brother.  
  
Honestly, it was kind of a shame that he hadn’t stopped sooner.  
  


  
  


“I’ll talk to you soon then.” Teto said with a smile.  
  
He waved as Ruy walked away with Caprice. He wanted to watch longer, but stepped back inside and shut the door after a reasonable amount of time.  
  
He leaned his head against the wood of the door as a small chuckle escaped him. The chuckle turned into a full laugh, of relief, of incredulity, of the good feeling inside.  
  
He sat down on the floor as he continued to laugh, eventually slowing to a ridiculous chuckle as he wiped a couple stray tears from his eye sockets.  
  
Well. Who would ever have thought.   
  
Canela perched in his knee, head cocked and curious.  
  
“I think it’s time for a drink.” Teto told her, ruffling his fingertips down her back. He stood, still gasping for air a little as he tried to get his breath back. “And we have to figure out how to tell Jasmine when she gets home.”  
  
But halfway to the kitchen he spotted the few faint dusty hoofprints that had been left behind on the dark wood floors, and set about scuffing them out with his socks, his laughing coming back as he did.  
  
Well. Things were going to get a little screwy if Rodrigo was really going to be coming back into the family, but somehow Teto didn’t really think he minded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go. Ladies and gentlemen I give you the boys, being actual adults and the first ones to rise from the ashes of their trashfire of a family. As always, the inbox is open for any questions you may have.


	15. A Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the youngest Rivera brothers got along. Mostly when their abuelita visited.
> 
> Ruy and Teto are probably about sevenish and eight-going-on-nine-ish, respectively, in this, and it's the last time they recall getting along.

                “Teto, I’m _hungry._ ”

                “ _Shh_. You want us getting caught?”

                Teto frowned hard at Ruy, who whined before obediently falling silent…at least, for a few seconds.

                “But I’m _really_ hungry.”

                Teto rolled his eyes. “You want to risk Mamá Mari catching you and making you play?”

                Ruy froze in place, eyes wide, then whined again before hugging his rabbit tightly to him and shaking his head.

                “That’s what I thought. Now stay _quiet._ ”

                Teto settled back against the trunk, keeping his ear open for their family to look for them. Normally, he wasn’t much of a rule breaker, and he _knew_ coming up to the attic would mean him and Ruy getting in a _ton_ of trouble. But this was desperate; _Mamá Mari_ had come to visit, and they’d needed to hide to avoid all the “ _Miiiiijo, look how tall you are!”_ and “ _Mi corazón, why don’t you play for your abuelita?”_ Normally Teto got away with a few cheek pinches and talking about grades, but pobre Ruy was always stuck at the piano for _hours_ , with Mamá Mari cooing over what a brilliant musician he was going to be.

                Ordinarily, Teto didn’t mind seeing Ruy in bad situations. But he wouldn’t wish Mari on _anyone_ , not even the world’s most annoying younger brother.

                So, the minute he’d heard the trilling “ _Holaaa,_ ” he’d put his latest plan into action. They’d tried hiding on the stairs, they’d tried hiding in their rooms—last time, Ruy had been stuck in a tree and _still_ had to talk to Mari. But Mamá y Papá would _never_ expect him to go up to the attic, much less with Ruy. So, if they stayed _very_ quiet, they might be able to make it though this visit without a single note or sticky kiss.

                The problem was, Ruy was the _opposite_ of quiet. The first few minutes had been nonstop shushing and talking and shushing and tapping and shushing and humming. It hadn’t been until Teto threatened to push him back out to deal with Mari himself that he finally went quiet.

                And, aside from saying he was hungry, he was doing pretty good at staying quiet. And, surprisingly, he wasn’t nearly as terrible as usual so long as he kept his mouth shut.

                The thought just ran through his head as he felt something rest against him. He looked down to see Ruy lean his head on his shoulder, shutting his eyes.

                “What are you _doing_ , Rodrigo?”

                Ruy pouted. “I’m still hungry, so I’m gonna sleep until Mamá Mari’s gone. Then I won’t think about it _and_ I’ll be quiet.”

                Teto was about to tell him that was stupid, but…well, it wasn’t really. And Ruy _would_ be much quieter if he was sleeping. He pressed his lips together, then settled down against the trunk.

                “Okay. But you don’t get to sleep on me again.”

                “I don’t wanna sleep on you again. You’re _bony_.”

                Even so, Ruy curled up against him and shut his eyes again, hugging his rabbit close to him. Teto glanced down at him, then sighed. He’d have to stay super still if he didn’t want to wake Ruy up; he was a crybaby, and being startled awake might set him off and get them caught. He carefully got as comfortable as he could, then leaned his head back against the trunk. He wished he’d brought a book. Or maybe one of his notebooks, so he could work on his inventions just like Tíos Oscár y Felipe. Well, he’d just have to _think_ about them then. He shut his eyes, figuring out how to make a machine that would make shoes all on its own. Ruy’s soft breathing was very calming and surprisingly good for focusing. He could practically see the machine he wanted to build.

                He just…

                Needed to keep…

                _Thinking_ …

                But maybe he could let his brain go quiet, just for a little bit.

~

                “ _Dios mio!_ ”

                Teto jolted awake at the cry, and his eyes were barely open before he was yanked up to his feet. A moment later, Ruy was up beside him, startled awake and automatically letting out a teary “Mamá, _stop!_ ”

                “I was worried _sick!_ I didn’t know where you two were, and then I find you up here?” Mamá’s sharp gaze rested on Teto. “ _You_ should know better than this. I have told you over and over again that the attic is _off-limits_ , and then you drag your brother up here?”

                “Mamá, I—”

                “I do _not_ want to hear it.” She grabbed both of their arms and started marching them toward the ladder. “If your abuela wasn’t here, you _both_ would be in so much trouble. In fact, after you talk to her, I’m going to have a long talk with your father about this.”

                Teto glanced over at Ruy as they were marched toward the ladder. His little brother looked up at him with wide eyes. Then, without any warning, he burst into tears.

                Mamá paused, automatically letting go of them to turn around. “What is it, mijo, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” she asked, kneeling down to wipe his eyes.

                “Do-don’t ma-make me s-s-say hello-o-o,” Ruy wailed. “I do-do-don’t wa-wanna p-p-play!”

                Mamá paused, pulling her hands away. “But you love playing the piano, Ruy.”

                “No-not f-f-for _hours!_ A-a-abuela do-doesn’t le-let me sto-o-op!”

                Teto pressed his lips together as he glanced at the ladder. Ruy was being a spoiled brat, as usual, but maybe he’d be able to sneak by. He took one step forward, but was immediately stopped by Mamá’s outstretched hand.

                “ _You_ are not going anywhere. You’re still in trouble for…”

                “ _No_ , Mamá!”

                All at once, Ruy threw his whole body weight against Teto, hugging him tightly. He looked down at him in surprise, then up at Mamá.

                “He…he was _helping_ me! H-he knows how mu-much I didn’t wanna play-y-y.”

                Mamá looked between them with a frown before her eyes settled on Teto. “Is this true, Teto? Were you really trying to keep your brother away from your abuela?”

                Teto swallowed, then nodded. “I…I don’t want to talk to her either,” he admitted quietly.

                Mamá looked between them again, then let out an irritated huff as she pressed her thumb to her forehead.

                “ _Both_ of you don’t like talking to your abuela this much?”

                They both nodded silently, aside from a couple of hiccups from Ruy. Mamá shut her eyes.

                “I…can’t blame either of you,” she said quietly. “But, this only happens _once._ And once your abuela leaves, you’re both in trouble for coming up to the attic.” She pointed down the ladder. “Vamos, mijos.”

                Teto was the first to scramble down the ladder, with Ruy just behind him. Once Mamá was down, she herded them toward her and Papá’s room. Shushing them, she ushered them both into bed, taking off Teto’s glasses before tucking them both in just as a trilling “Imeld _iiii_ ta!” came down the hallway. Mamá said a quick little prayer, then pressed her hand to Teto’s forehead just as the jingle of bracelets came to the door.

                “ _There_ are los preciosos! Let their abuelita come up to…”

                “Lo siento, Mari, but you’ll have to stay back. The boys caught a terrible fever.”

                “Oh, no. Is there anything I can do to help?”

                “No, no, they’re fine. But I don’t want you catching it before you head home.”

                Teto peeked an eye out from under the blanket as Mamá walked toward Mamá Mari. She glanced back, giving him a firm look to _stay put_ , then turned on her charm as she ushered Mari out and shut the door behind her.

                Both boys stayed silent and still for a long moment. Finally, Ruy’s head popped over the blanket.

                “Is she gone?”

                Teto squinted at the door. “I think so. But we have to stay here.”

                Ruy gave a whine. “It’s gonna be so _boring._ ”

                “Better than playing piano for hours.” Teto’s brow furrowed, and he looked at Ruy. “Does playing for her really bother you _that_ much? You were really upset.”

                To his surprise, Ruy gave him a wide grin. “I’m gonna tell you a secret, Teto.” He scooted a little closer, then whispered, “I can cry about _anything._ ”

                “En serio?”

                “Mm-hm. I could probably cry right now, but I don’t wanna.”

                Teto blinked, then frowned. “So all the times you cried because I upset you…”

                Ruy blinked, then gave an embarrassed smile. “If I promise not to do it again, will you not get mad at me?”

                Teto huffed and rolled over. _Unbelievable._ Even when Ruy was helping him, he was still a spoiled brat. But…well, he _was_ the older brother. And he should let Ruy know when he’d done something good, even if it _physically hurt_ to do so.

                “Hey, Ruy?”

                “Hm?”

                “Thanks for making sure I didn’t have to talk to Mari, either. You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

                “Well, sure.” Without any warning, Ruy crawled over to him, resting his sharp little chin on his arm. “You’re the most boring brother ever, but even _you_ don’t deserve Mari.”

                Teto half-smiled, then pushed Ruy’s face to get him off. “All right, all right. Get off or I’ll tell Mamá about your fake crying.”

                “No fair!”

                “Yes, fair. Now _shhh_ , or Mari will come find us again.”

                He glanced back to see Ruy pout at him, but obligingly slide under the covers. He turned back over, letting out a sigh as he stared at the window.

                This was probably the only time Mamá would let them get away with this. And it was _really_ awful having to stay in bed the whole time.

                But even so, it was probably the best day he’d ever spent with Ruy.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Death_Frisbee/Slusheeduck is a very important part of my brainstorming and behind the scenes process of villain au, and we scream about Ruy a lot together. 
> 
> They've written a lot with these chapters about Rodrigo because we both love our beautiful disaster of a son who cannot catch a break, and I wanted to include the excellent stuff they've written in the ao3 canon as well as tumblr since it helps flesh out his character even more.


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